Friends Lost, But Not Forgotten

   In my fond boyhood memories of the movie “The Sandlot”, the Great Bambino tells Benny in a dream, “Heroes get remembered kid, but legends never die”. That line has stuck with me all these years later. The wonder of a legend is that despite the passing of time and the decay of things that once were, a legend lives on forever. It’s just too wondrous to be forgotten. We’ve all heard of them, but few of us ever have the chance to be witness to one. But I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m speaking of course, of my friend Seth.

   Having met each other through the Young Men’s program at church when I first moved to Utah in the latter part of 8^th grade, he struck me as odd. I never would have expected him to become my closest confidant and best friend. A young man that grew up with me and became a man that I loved as a brother.  

   As teenage boys, we found ourselves drawn to the manly man activities like camping, hiking, and boxing. I remember sitting around campfires in the cold mountain air as wisdom poured from our lips explaining to each other the mysteries of the female species. We speculated on what made the girls swoon and devised plans to guide their passions in our direction.

   Being groomed and shaped in the ways of 90’s Hollywood awesomeness, we built our own version of Brad Pitt’s Fight Club. We permanently borrowed some boxing gloves from a friend of a friend of a friend and scrapped it out on the once-lush mountain green grass of my parent’s backyard. Buddies from school joined in our unofficial club as we all wanted to prove our manhood. As our abilities and confidence grew, we occasionally felt obliged to grace the neighborhood with a prize fight on the front lawn where all our adoring fans could be reminded that we were tough. I’m certain the girls that drove down our busy street found it hard to resist our battle formed bodies glistening in the sun as we clashed like Roman Gladiators.

   As the years passed, we became emboldened by the rush of danger and machismo found on the battlefield. We were growing tired of the safety of our padded boxing gloves and longed to see if we really were as tough as we believed. One day after school, Seth and I began drafting the rules for a bare-knuckled fight to be had in my backyard. The cool factor was multiplied by 10, and adrenaline rushed through our veins at the chance to stand toe to toe, man to man, and see who would be left standing victorious. As the day drew closer, I found myself wondering if I could really punch my friend in the face without the protection of a glove.

   The big day finally arrived with the same exuberance of a Christmas BB Gun in the hands of a 10-year-old boy. We had planned it out in every detail. We had prepped ourselves mentally to raise our fighting game to the next level. It started with a few body shots to the ribs. Each exchange finding a little more power. Both of us danced around the yard timidly, not quite ready for headshots. As we squared off, and grew more and more inpatient with ourselves, we both finally went for the side of the head. There wasn’t a lot of hate packed behind our punches, so we shrugged off the blows with little regard. We leapt and bound a little more with the grace of a newborn gazelle until suddenly, without any provocation or signal, we both stopped. We dropped our bare fists and almost simultaneously agreed that we just couldn’t do it. We couldn’t bring ourselves to fight in a way that would really result in any notable harm. We laughed a little and shook our heads with bashful disgust as we came to terms with the reality that we weren’t the ruthless enforcers we had once imagined. We hugged it out as brothers and decided we were finally done with our teenage fight club for the foreseeable future.

   Seth was a faithful soul. His whole sense of self was rooted in gospel living. During my rebellious years, I proved myself with colorful language, sipping down hard-core peach wine coolers, and smoking the occasional cherry flavored Swisher Sweet cigar. I skipped our church on Sundays and attended churches not of my parent’s faith. I spent time with other friends that helped persuade me into a lot of poor choices. At times, I tried to persuade Seth to rebel a little bit with me. But Seth would have no part in it. He read his scriptures daily. He said his prayers morning and night. He offered service whenever anyone needed help. I remember an occasion sitting together in class our senior year of high school, when another boy, apparently annoyed at something Seth had said, stood up and punched Seth square in the face. His head snapped to the side swiftly from the crack. No sooner had his head turned from the hit, he swung it right back into place and smiled at the boy, looking him in the eye, saying “I still love you”. The fight was over before it could begin.

   He was a relentless, good example that walked away whenever it was opportune to compromise his standards. His staunch faithfulness was annoying at times and I dished out my share of tease toward him. But despite my best efforts to solidify my place in this world as a complete jackass, Seth never gave up on me. He loved me no matter what. There’s not a lot of people that can wear that medal, but Seth was as faithful a friend as he was a Christian.

   As the rebellion faded from my aspirations and the desire to grow my own testimony took hold in my heart, Seth patiently talked to me about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Being almost a year older than me, I watched him as he prepared to serve a full-time mission for our church. After he was called to serve, and shortly thereafter left on his mission to Santiago, Chile, I found myself with an even stronger desire to know for myself if the gospel I had been taught throughout my life was true.

   I began attending mission prep classes on Sundays. I read my scriptures with my girlfriend and spent time on my knees in earnest prayer. I desired to know if I really had a Heavenly Father and if He really knew me as one of his beloved children. Sitting with Brother Campbell (my mission prep teacher) during a one on one scripture study, he shared his testimony with me about a living Father in Heaven and the Savior Jesus Christ. I felt a burning deep within my soul that pierced my heart to the core. We said a prayer together and I received further confirmation that I am a child of God, and He cared about me. This confirmation by the Spirit took permanent root within me and placed me on the path of serving a 2-year, full time mission for my church.

   Because Seth had left a year before me, we knew it would be 3 years before we saw each other again. We penned letters to each other and stayed in touch as best we could. During that first year I rarely heard back from him and I assumed he was anxiously engaged in the cause of serving others and sharing the gospel. But when I finally found myself in the mission field far from home, Seth was right back to his relentless ways of caring for me, lifting me up in times of trouble, and being my friend. He wrote to me often and shared with me his excitement of being about the Lord’s work.

   After he completed his mission, he enrolled into school at the LDS Business College just a few blocks from his childhood home. One of his favorite past times was cheerfully walking into my parent’s home to read the latest letters I had sent to him and the family. I recall being told of his delight as he would read aloud my letters for all the family to hear. On one momentous occasion, I had written home somewhat playfully about some medical problems I had been experiencing. There were questions and concerns about lumps and pains in my man-parts that required the loving, gentle touch of a female hospital aid and her technical skills with an ultrasound wand. I wrote home in great detail about the, well, let’s just say the excitement experienced by all during this monumental hospital visit. My father describes the scene as Seth cheerfully opened my letter and began reading proudly aloud with my family as an audience. My father, knowing what was written, gently urged him to read this particular letter to himself. But Seth was too excited and insisted on reading with crisp clarity for all to partake in another wonderful missionary letter home. As he continued, his glowing expression headed south with each additional sentence. He slowed just a little as things got really dicey until he finally stopped himself mid-sentence, turned bright red, and exclaimed with sheepish despair, JOSEPH! The whole family erupted in laughter as Seth now heeded my father’s warning and read the remainder of the letter in private silence.

   Upon my return in January 2003, I was eager to see my friend once again after 3 long years apart. When I first saw him, I stretched myself forward to shake his hand. He stopped me dead in my tracks, and with his best Chris Farley, Tommy Boy voice he enthusiastically said, “brothers don’t shake hands, brothers gotta hug”. He then proceeded to wrap me up tight in a mighty bear hug.

   Seth and I spared no time before we were back to our old ways of paling around and turning our attentions once again to the lovely maidens of the provocative Salt Lake City, Utah. We enjoyed double dating with the ladies and tried to romance them with our Latin-based love languages we had acquired on the mission. Having learned a smattering of Portuguese during the first course of my mission, and Seth being fluent in Spanish, we tried on occasion to speak with each other in our foreign tongues. Seth figured Spanish and Portuguese were similar enough for us to be able to understand one another. While Seth spent 2 years immersed in Spanish, I had only spent the better part of 6 months learning Portuguese followed by 18 more months of Texanese. My language skills were not nearly as strong as Seth’s, but we tried just the same. On one occasion, during a long, drawn out conversation between us, with brows furled in confusion we both stopped to find out what the heck the other was talking about. We found that we had long since parted ways on the topic first presented, and we were no longer communicating anything remotely similar to our assumed previously established talking points. Again, as had happened so many other times in our friendship, we laughed at the stupidity of it all, shook our heads and hugged it out.

   Among the many women we had caught within our masterfully woven web of masculine sex appeal, Seth and I occasionally spent time with Jeanette and Dara. Dara was the youngest sister of our longtime friend Frank, and Jeanette was the younger sister of another friend within the neighborhood. While Jeanette and I had in fact enjoyed a romantic relationship for a short period of time, the 4 of us spent most of our time together as just simply good friends.

   On May 21^st, 2003, the 4 of us rallied together and embarked on a spontaneous adventure up Big Cottonwood Canyon and hiking to the majestic Doughnut Falls. As we prepared to leave, I remember all too well standing in Seth’s living room when his mother, Ann, entered the room a bit disheveled and warned us that she had a bad feeling about this trip and wished that we wouldn’t go. I also remember teasing Ann about being an overprotective mom and telling her not to worry.

   Oh, how I wish I could take it all back.

   Seth being the oldest of our group, and I suppose also the only one with transportation, was the designated driver for our adventure. We made our way safely to the parking lot trailhead up the beautiful canyon on the cusp of full mountain springtime. Green, lush trees surrounded us with pockets of crusted, old snow in the shade. The air was crisp and invigorating. We hiked the family friendly trail to the base of the waterfall. The water rushed loudly and a well-worn path made itself known along the edge of the residual winter glacier blanketing the treacherous rocks below the falls. We scaled our way to the rim of the cave that received the rushing flow of mountain runoff beneath Donut Falls. With youth and time on our side, we opted to crawl our way up the slippery, rocky face leading up and around the waterfall.

   Above and beyond the Falls, we found groves of lush green foliage welcoming us to the blissful freedom of the mountains. Running around leaping over tree stumps and doing somersaults in the patches of dusty snow, one might think we were shooting a scene for a Sound of Music remake. We rested on a well-established fallen log and enjoyed lunch together with the gentle chill of a mountain breeze raising the tiny hairs on our arms.

   Our imaginative souls, taking flight in the pleasantries of mountainous wonder, were tethered back to earth when Jeanette reminded us of her obligation back in town for a job interview that afternoon. We gathered our lunch sacks and water bottles and made our way back down the direction we had come. Approaching the steep rock slide around the edge of the falls appeared more treacherous than we had remembered. Seth and I slid down first to aid in the descent of the girls. We placed our ungloved hands beneath their feet to help control the speed of their slide down the face. Once we were safely down the rock slide, we gathered around the entrance of the cave beneath the falls.

   Donut Falls is magnificent. It gets its name because the violent rush of the heavy snow melt has worn a hole through the center of the rock ceiling of the cave below it. The rock takes the shape of a horizontal donut outstretched from the face of the mountain with water rushing through the center donut hole. The water then splashes down into a small pool which stretches back into the mountain rock forming a cave. Water that rises higher than about 18 inches then makes its way across the much larger boulders that cascade the descent to the base of the falls and the top of the creek. The edge is precarious, but the cave is seemingly harmless and offers refuge.

   With our hands and butts covered in sopping dirt from the slide around the edge of the upper falls, we decided we would wash off in the pool within the cave. Dara went into the cave first where I followed shortly after. Jeanette squatted down at the water’s edge just outside the cave and rinsed her hands carefully. Seth stood calmly behind Jeanette looking around with quiet reflection. He was seemingly hesitant to join Dara and I in the cave, so I gave him a brotherly ribbing. We playfully bantered back and forth, Seth standing on the water’s edge. Myself, standing about 15 or 20 feet away inside the cave. As I looked at him teasingly, my eye caught a sudden shift of the boulder behind him.

   My eyes focused tightly on the massive boulder that had stood tall and firm immediately behind Seth. The top shifted forward without warning and began to lean toward Seth. I screamed out Seth’s name and leapt across the water.

   Time slowed down as Seth noticed the boulder encroaching from behind. He turned his gaze towards mine as his eyes filled with doom. The rock’s upper face caught hold of the top of Seth’s shoulders and forced him forward violently. As our eyes locked, vomit spewed vigorously from his mouth as the 10-ton boulder folded my dear friend in half.

   His forward motion had knocked Jeanette into the pool of water. The large boulder loomed over the top of Seth’s shoulders like a heavy, granite blanket leaving little of him uncovered. His chest was pinned tightly atop a much smaller boulder beneath him and his head extended out beyond the reach of the boulder above. His left arm could be seen bearing much of the weight in a propped position with his hand clasping his knee. His left leg was bent at the knee in a pseudo squatting position, but the ankle had broken so his foot wrapped around in a semi-circle below his shin. His right side was stretched behind him and was completely enveloped by the boulder.

   Time sped up abruptly. Every second raced by with perilous haste. With his head peering out at the highest point of his granite captor, a loud moan rumbled through our ears. It was a terrible sound as the relentless boulder, the size of a Volkswagen, squeezed the air out of Seth unapologetically. Instantly I reached the top edge of the boulder and tried to lift. Nothing happened. The girls’ screaming caught the attention of a young couple sitting nearby. I urged the man to help me lift. We all placed our hands on the boulder, with my legs straddling overtop Seth’s head, and we heaved with all our might. I heard Dara cry out in agony. Again, there was no movement. The boulder held its ground with vengeful might. I scrambled around the surrounding rocks searching for a log that could provide us some leverage. All the while this gut-wrenching moan growing weaker and weaker.

   With nothing to help in sight, I grasped the sides of my head, wrenching my hair with hopelessness. In the chaos of it all I realized that Dara’s cry in agony was the result of the gaping wound inflicted upon her when I had unwittingly placed my hand on top of hers as we attempted to lift the boulder. She was bleeding steadily across the palm of her hand. The young couple that was now fully involved in the cause, offered to go for help, taking Dara with them to get her to the hospital for stitches.

   I returned to Seth; this time filled with despair. The moaning was now silent, and Jeanette had moved away from the boulder and closer to the edge of the drop off. I removed Seth’s camouflaged Boonie-hat from the top of his head. I could see the backs of his ears were a shade of midnight purple. I placed my hand on his left wrist atop his knee to feel for a pulse. I anxiously knelt down to gaze upon his face propped only a few inches above the water. His face matched the color of his ears, his eyes were bulging from their sockets, eyelids peeled back, and unknown matter draped over his bottom lip and hung lightly like biologically woven lace from his openly strained mouth.

   I didn’t know what else to do so I placed my hands upon his head to give him a blessing. I did not believe I was worthy to be performing this priesthood ordinance as I had found myself on the wrong side of some bad decisions not long prior to this day. Nevertheless, I tried to bless him. Nothing happened as I shamefully expected.

   The reality of this nightmare was becoming clear. My friend was dead. There was no going back. There was no rewind on the clock of life. He was dead and there was nothing I could do about it. I made my way toward Jeanette. She apologized but said she couldn’t be up there any longer. She needed to get away. She scaled down the rest of the way to the bottom of the falls and waited for help on the trailhead.

   Knowing the brutally violent way in which death grabbed hold of Seth, I needed to know that he was ok and no longer suffering. I clutched my fingers and knelt in prayer. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to let me know if Seth was ok. I offered up my untimely apologies for not listening to Ann’s warning and felt complete anguish for everything that had happened. Just then, as if it were happening in the flesh, I felt Seth’s hand gently rest on my shoulder and saw his smiling face as he said to me, “Hey buddy, it’s ok. I’m alright. C’mon, be happy for me.” Then he winked at me and bounced his eyebrows with a big smile on his face. He looked off in the distance with amazement, as if he was headed somewhere incredible, and vanished from my mind’s eye. A gentle peace came over me temporarily that confirmed in my heart that Seth was in a better place. I smiled briefly in the warmth of that moment, then wept like a child.

   I closed my prayer, backed away from his body, and moved toward the landing’s edge. I waited for what seemed like an eternity for help to arrive. It was scary being up there all alone with nothing but the roar of the falls and my friend’s lifeless body. I couldn’t believe this had happened and I worried myself sick about Seth’s parents hearing the news.

   As the helmeted heads of the Search and Rescue team bounced their way up the trail within eye’s reach, it felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt as if I could finally breath and I was no longer in charge of the incident that had unfolded high in the Wasatch mountains. I shudder at the repugnant analogy of my feelings considering the fate of my friend.

   The rescuers made their way up the glacial path and filled the rocky landing of Donut Falls. They told me I must go down to the bottom and wait for them to recover his body. At first, I refused. But the rescuers insisted that they could not work safely and effectively with me in the area. I reluctantly agreed and made my way down to Jeanette.

   News choppers were circling high overhead like vultures eager to scavenge below. A member of the Sherriff’s department, standing on the trail with us, told me our families had been notified of what happened and were waiting for us at the base of the canyon. I refused to head down the trail without Seth. Insisting on maintaining the best vantage point possible from down below, I stood in the icy runoff peering at the Rescuers working high above.

   I’ll never forget the image of one rescuer standing high above on the edge of the landing around the Falls as he shook open the black, tightly folded body bag. It took about 3 hours for them to secure enough ropes and pulleys before they finally dragged his broken body out from underneath the massive boulder. I watched from afar as they secured his bagged body and carefully lowered it down the face of the lower falls. When they reached me, I grabbed a hold of the bag to help carry him to an old truck not far down the trail.

   We loaded him solemnly into the bed of the pickup. I sat in the bed next to him as the truck crawled slowly down the trail. Honestly, I don’t remember where Jeanette was at this point, but I recall droves of rescue vehicles in a parking lot partway up the canyon where the truck dropped me off. They directed me into a bus labeled “Incident Command” where I met another Sherriff’s officer. I looked around frantically for my family but all I saw was uniforms. It was at that moment when it finally occurred to me that our families could not have been notified as no one had ever asked for our information. How would they even know who we were, let alone who to call for us.

   The Sheriff in the Incident Command bus told me I could call my family from one of the desk phones to get a ride home if I needed. When my dad picked up the phone, I tried to tell him about the terrible accident and that Seth had died. He was confused and kept asking “What happened? I don’t understand.” I remember yelling at him angrily when one of his questions came out as “What did you do?!” I replied with great agitation that I had not done anything and that I needed him to come and get me right now. I provided directions, reminded him to hurry and then ended the call abruptly.

   A short time later, as I waited for my ride, I was startled when someone else entered the bus. He was holding Seth’s Boonie-hat that I had left by him. He handed me the hat and then pulled out a set of keys from his front pocket. It was Seth’s car keys. The Sherriff in the bus asked me if Seth was the only one that had driven us up there. I confirmed his question and looked at him puzzled. “Do you think you could drive his car back home?” the Sheriff asked me. Surprised by his invitation, I reluctantly agreed to drive Seth’s car back to his parent’s house.

   I called my dad back who was already on his way to pick me up and I told him I would meet him at home. My heart raced as I assumed the driver’s seat in Seth’s old sedan. I honestly can’t remember if Jeanette was in the car with me as we drove down the canyon. The entire drive is a complete blur to me and I have no idea how I made it from point A to point B. But what I will never forget, and what haunts me still to this day, is what happened when we arrived at Seth’s home.

   Seth’s parents were like my own extended family. His mother Ann, gentle and kind, always made sure the fridge was stocked with a variety of delicious foods to satisfy our teenage appetites. My favorite, was making sandwiches with the long, sliced pickle spears. Bob, Seth’s dad, was a quiet man that showed little emotion. Nevertheless, he was kind and patient, he was an engineer and was mostly introverted. If you attempted to give him a hug, he would stretch forth his hand to shake instead. Bob and Ann loved their kids, and provided a comfortable, supportive environment for them to grow up in.

   As I pulled into the driveway behind the wheel of Seth’s car, there was a police vehicle parked out front. With several large windows spanning the front room of the house, you could see inside the Living room. Bob was seated on the couch and two officers were with him. His mother Ann, saw me through the windows and walked to meet me at the front door.

   As I stepped from the car, clutching the Army camouflaged Boonie-hat, Ann opened the front door. With a sharp jolt to my soul, I could hear Bob wailing loudly, “Oh God, Oh God, my son, my son!” Tears streamed down Ann’s face as I approached her. She asked, “Were you with him?” I could hardly nod yes, almost blinded and frozen to anything but the painful shrieks of his father. Ann wrapped me in her motherly embrace and quietly muttered, “Oh Joe.”

   With so many emotions surging within me and feeling as though I may burst from the inside, I passed the hat and keys into Ann’s grasp, then ran away as fast as my legs would carry me. I headed straight for home cutting through yards, wasting no time for sidewalks or stop signs. Approaching my own front lawn, where I had once battled my friend in youthful sport, my step mom Tammy ran out to receive me in bolstered embrace. I wept in her arms uncontrollably as I was finally safe at last.

   The events that unfolded over the following days and weeks remain jumbled in the timeline of my memory. Seth’s funeral was held at our local church building. I was told that the LDS Business College closed for the day to allow Seth’s many school friends to attend the services. The chapel and overflow were filled beyond capacity with friends and family that all loved Seth and his family. I was honored and blessed to speak at his funeral and be given an opportunity to reflect on all of the good, during a time when all I could remember was the horrific.

   Because of the unusual nature surrounding his death, the media swarmed for several days. Multiple interviews with Jeanette, Dara and me at the service, at our homes, and even at the burial, became routine. TV stations and newspapers across the country told stories of what had happened. Always looking for a twist in the headlines, the story quickly became about the experience shared by Jeanette of the heroic act of Seth in his last moments as he pushed her out of the way of the falling rock, saving her life. I don’t doubt that it felt like being pushed as she was lurched forward into the pool of water. But I saw what happened in vivid slow motion and knew that event was simply a domino effect from the force of the tipping boulder. I have kept this a secret from everyone but my wife until now.

   Not wanting to diminish Seth in any way, or detract from the amazing man that he was, I went along with the story of heroism. The story had captured so much attention nationwide that the Today Show contacted our family asking for an interview. We spent all night cleaning our living room to be ready for the satellite interview early the next morning. When the news crew arrived at the door, they told us there had been a change of plans. Apparently, they had been redirected to go cover a story about a Bush tax cut or something political like that.

   I wanted to smash the newsman’s face in and throw him over the balcony of our porch. I took it as an insult that Seth’s life and death was less important than the daily political move of a politician. It told me that the interview surrounding Seth’s death was no more than a cheap search for ratings. They could pretend to care with words and gestures, but their only real objective was to chase the best ratings option. I could scarcely contain my rage and had to slip away to the basement in haste.   

   I received a letter in the mail one day from some organization that claimed to recognize and award people for acts of heroism. They wanted me to write the story of Seth pushing Jeanette to safety as the boulder came crashing down. They promised to enter the story into the running for an award that would be given to him posthumously for his great act of heroism. I wrestled day and night over what I should do.

   To me, Seth was a hero. Not because of some final act in the last moments before his demise, but because of the daily acts of goodness, kindness, and love that he shared throughout his life. Seth had touched the lives of thousands with his humble generosity of forgiveness, patience, and charity. He was an example of brotherly love and virtue. I felt as though writing a story to fit the manufactured mold of heroic parameters was exploiting his true goodness. I ignored the request for a story and buried it alongside the other regrets of my past.

   A short time after he died, Seth’s parents asked me to show them the place that had claimed their beloved son. I was reluctant to return to the scene, but felt compelled to help them find a morsel of peace in their despair. My parents Dan and Tammy, Seth’s parents Bob and Ann, as well as a few other close family friends loaded into our vehicles and headed to the trailhead parking lot.

   As we drove, I remember hearing the sound of rushing water and Seth’s dying, breathy, raspy moan in the back of my mind. The farther we went up the canyon, the louder the noise became. It became so loud that I couldn’t hear anything or anyone else around me. I plugged my ears tightly in hopes that I could make it stop, but it only billowed louder.

   I fought with all the energy of my heart to bring myself back to the present. With the volume temporarily on low in the back of my mind, we were all able to revisit the place that claimed the life of one of this world’s finest. I believe that despite the pain it presented, it was also therapeutic in nature for all present.

   Sometime during these confusing weeks in the aftermath of a storm, Ann divulged to me a message she had read in Seth’s journal shortly after he died. She shared that he had written an entry about a week before his untimely death wherein he believed that his time on earth was coming to an end. He felt that he had done what he was supposed to do and would soon be called home. I marveled at the idea that this tragic accident may have all been a part of a bigger plan. It also jolted a memory of a feeling I had the day he died. I remember as the girls and I were all having fun and running around like hooligans in the hills above the Falls, Seth had a very somber and pensive expression growing on his face. So much so that at times he walked away from our playful antics and sat quietly by himself in silence. I’m convinced he felt something was coming that very day.

   With all of the media attention, there were several variations of the story buzzing around. One story indicated that I had been playing atop the overhang of the waterfall and had mistakenly knocked loose the boulder that tumbled down on top of Seth. It’s hard to understand why an upright boulder standing on solid ground, that had presumably been in the same position for countless previous years, would suddenly fall over at just the right moment to crush a human being. But one explanation that surfaced and seemed the most logical to me, was that water and ice had built up around the foundation of the rock and had frozen and thawed many times over the years with subtle, even microscopic shifting. Because of these inconsequential shifts taking place over and over again, the rock finally gave way to the expansion and contraction of the ice melting below at the worst possible moment in time.

   I don’t really know exactly how it happened. I don’t really know why it happened. Was it a deliberate act of God? Was it a preplanned moment mapped out on the timeline of life’s destiny? What I do know is that it was the first domino in a series of events that have forever changed my life.

   The relief felt when the rescuers arrived was so intense that it pushed me down a path of emergency response related education and career. The fruitless blessing, I had tried to provide on that dreary day stoked me down the path of repentance. I met my beautiful wife later that same year because my parents urged me to attend religion classes at the Community College to help me cope with the loss. My testimony in Heavenly Father grew stronger as did my faith in the afterlife. My empathy for those who have lost loved ones was engraved on my heart and I have a deeper appreciation for the realities of PTSD.

   Beyond these blessings, I am reminded often of the fragility of life and its precious moments. Reluctantly embracing the cliché by referencing the musical Wicked, I can say that I have been changed for the better, because I knew Seth. But beyond lyrics, I consider the powerful lesson found in the New Testament. Matthew 22: 37-39; Jesus said unto him, thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. Seth embodied this principle better than anyone else I know. I believe that’s why the Lord called him home so young. He had come to this earth with a purpose, to gain a body and to try his faith. He lived his life in a manner that I believe was very pleasing unto the Lord. He taught me what it meant to be a true friend. His life is forever etched in the hearts of countless others who had the chance to call him friend. He gave so much more than all the riches in the world could ever provide. He gave his love, his devotion, and he gave of himself to serve those in need.

   His physical presence may be gone for a time. But his spirit and love live on and thrive vibrantly within my heart and the heart of so many others. From young boys full of promise, to young men full of history, to the legacy of a true hero; Seth’s life, at least for me, was legendary. Forever making him my friend lost, but not forgotten.