The Caboose

My friend, Richard, was a big guy. I don't mean in terms of physical size, although to look at him, you'd never guess he ran three marathons within one year.

My friend, Richard, was a big person. Everything about him was big: his smile, his laugh, his appetite, his hugs, his love, his friendship, his heart, his soul. His life.

My friend passed away yesterday at the age of 28. He was doing what he always did--living big and having a good time. That's how I choose to remember him: laughing big and enjoying his friends.

"Just stay in front of me," he'd say to his fellow back-of-the-packers. "Stay in front of me and you'll finish. I'll be the caboose."

Some people dive into life; Richard did a full-on cannonball. He seized every opportunity to make his life richer. He ran marathons despite all apparent physical limitations. He crocheted blankets for new babies in his family. He took 30-mile bike rides, if only to spend time with friends and enjoy the food stops. He just learned to play golf and looked forward to his first game on Saturday, even though it would be in the freezing rain. He touched the hearts of each person he knew, and the world is a better place for having had him in it.

And now I know he's up there, at life's finish line, cheering us all on. He's got his medal already, just waiting for us all to finish, too. And when I get there, and God gives me my finisher's medal, Richard will be there to give me another big hug.

Update: Robin made a great slide show of some of Richard's photos. It can be found here.