I'm guessing that we have all let people pass without telling them how much we loved and respected them.

After a buddy's recent funeral, a barbecue was held to celebrate his life. The family asked me to read this tribute (the hardest thing I have ever done in my life). I'm sharing it with you. Maybe you could write something for one of your beloved friends and share it with her or him now.

He was Fred

As we get into "these" years, we find ourselves losing friends and family at an alarming rate. And, almost always too late, we find ourselves wishing we had shared our thoughts, our closeness, our feelings and respect with that person while he or she was still with us.

I think we all kind of wish we could be a mouse in the corner at our own funeral to hear what was being said. I missed my chance with a very dear friend. I wrote my tribute, my elegy, to my best friend—but was half an hour too late.

I dropped off some blueberry-oatmeal muffins at my friend's house. Fred's sons answered the door. Somber looks told me that bad had gone to worst. Glassy-eyed, a son informed me that Fred had passed away 20 minutes before.

I went home, poured a shot of tequila, opened a beer, found my favorite chair, opened a book, and read the opening paragraph eight times. Eight times! I put the book down, finished my brew, and stared out into space, feeling extremely sorry for Fred's family. Then I thought, How does this affect my life? Yes, I'm devastatingly sad, but why? What does Fred's passing mean to me?

Fred, you made clichés like "over-the-top," "bigger-than-life," and "the real deal" come true. You were the model for slogans like "Quitters never win, winners never quit" and "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." There used to be a Schlitz slogan, "You only go around once in life." That was you, too, Dude.

Your presence, anywhere, simply charged the room with expectations. You know that Budweiser campaign last year, "Here we go!" That is exactly what happened when you showed up. The atmosphere instantly got different—more fun, more interesting.

People in our generation remember when a nearby field or empty parking lot was overnight filled with a traveling carnival. Yes, they were primitive, raw, and earthy and even maybe a little dangerous, but they sucked us in with a sense of awe and wonder and excitement. Suddenly there were bright, colorful lights, interesting noises, and enticing booths. Here was adventure in our own back yard. Talk about some great memories!

These tiny carnivals entered our lives only so often, but, boy, did we look forward to them! They created Moments. Times we looked forward to. Situations when we knew we were going to smile, smirk, and laugh and be granted serendipitous escape from a mundane world. Fred, you were that carnival.

I've got lots of friends, but none who could light up my expectations like Fred. The conversation was going to be interesting, going to be fun, going to be new. You brought "different" into my life. Nobody else did that. I'm never going to have those here-we-go Fred times again.

The world is inhabited by billions of people. Many of them have lives that are just black-and-white TV. Others have stepped up to color. A few go as far as being HD. And then there are those rare, really spectacular, individuals who don't ever settle for OK, who step up, jump off the high board, and enter the rarefied realm of Blu-ray.

Have you seen a Blu-Ray set up? It is so much hotter than regular life. The colors are so brilliant they jump out at you. Gosh, you were so dang colorful. When you were around, you made my life Blu-ray. Now I'm going to have to endure a Fred-less television existence. That's why I'm sad. For everyone who knew you, life just got a whole lot duller.

I just thought you should know that there are hundreds of friends and family that have so many Fred stories, and we will be telling them, over and over, for years to come. You will not be forgotten, Ol' Bud. Ever.

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