By Mike Blackwell

Gary Holcomb looked at me with bright eyes, a mischievous smile stretched across his bearded face.

It was May 16, the day Angie and I were married. The wedding ceremony had just ended, and the reception was alive with laughter, food and flashbulbs. He shook my right hand, his left hand resting firmly on my shoulder.

"Way to go, Blackwell," Gary said. "You did good. You did real good."

Gary, his wife Vicki and their friends Grayson and Charlotte Wetzel had driven some 350 miles for the wedding in Oklahoma. Angie and I walked around the reception room, greeting all of the visitors, families and friends. When we reached the Holcombs and Wetzels, we tried to take a little more time than usual to say "thanks for coming." I hope we tried hard enough.

Under normal circumstances, I would not have remembered the brief encounter with Gary. After all, I had known him for eight years, and had long ago learned to enjoy and appreciate his mind, his humor and his kind heart. But two Saturdays ago, those circumstances changed.

Gary Holcomb, young for his age at 49, died suddenly of a massive heart attack. His funeral was held one week ago in the First Baptist Church of Goldthwaite. This was home, the place where he was baptized nine years ago. His great friend Doug Holtzclaw gave the eulogy, sharing stories and laughter with the overflow crowd. Songs were sung, and an endless array of flowers filled the altar.

"The only thing certain about life," said Holtzclaw, "is its uncertainty."

When the ceremony ended, it took 20-30 minutes for the hundreds of family members and friends to file past Gary at the front of the church. Old folks said farewell, and so did teenagers, coaches, colleagues and friends.

The drive from the church to the cemetery was short but sweet. The procession passed the road that leads to Eagle Field, where Gary had spent so many happy times watching his daughter Rachel perform with the GHS band. Past the courthouse, town square and Century 21 office where he so ably managed his business interests. Past the cafe where he shared so much with so many.

The burial was brief and poignant. Family and friends huddled close to hear prayers as the Mills County breeze blew the flaps of the green canvas covering. There was sorrow here, and peace. Unexpected death is always sobering, and Gary's departure from this place was certainly quite a shock to so many who knew him.

He gave abundantly to those around him, loved young people, cherished his family and adored the Goldthwaite Eagles. For some, Gary will be missed most of all on autumn Friday nights, when he and Vicki and the usual "traveling troupe" of friends would pile into his truck and head to a football stadium in San Saba or Burnet or Florence or Hamilton. Other friends of Gary's will no doubt miss his membership in the Coffee Club, a group of Goldthwaite cronies who gather regularly in the town coffee shops to ponder football, weather and life. In that order. Others will simply miss having him around.

While awaiting the funeral last week, Angie and I walked across the street from the church and sat down for a drink at a local convenience store. A man with a sweaty cowboy hat and dirty jeans came in for a quick lunch break and said hello. He knew why we were in town.

"He's one of the best friends I've got," said the man, his eyes filled with tears. "I just don't do funerals, but Gary knows that...this is just a tough deal."

The man grabbed his lunch, then left again for work. We watched him walk away, and it occurred to me that all of Goldthwaite, or at least all who knew Gary, had been dealt a heavy blow. Sure, hundreds of mourners crammed into the old Baptist church to say good-bye. But how many others, some who could not leave work and some who could not bear a funeral's sadness, had also been touched by his life?

I suppose none of us know what truly defines a life that is well-lived. But Gary Holcomb was a loving husband, a dedicated father, a caring son and an unconditional friend. And though we all miss him a great deal, he is no doubt watching us now with great amusement, and he's probably wondering what all the fuss is about.

I've thought about him frequently over the past two weeks, and I'm thankful I remember our last couple of visits. Still, I wish I could see him again. If I could, I think I would tell him what I wish I had told him when I had the chance.

"Way to go, Holcomb. You did good. You did real good."