I don't know what I said when I spoke at Jack's funeral. I hadn't written anything down. I'd only been getting ready for it for 50 years.
On the way up the aisle at the end of the services, I walked behind the casket. I wanted to talk to him about it—I wanted to tell him: Man, Jack, we thought we'd seen everything. But you won't believe this. Do you know where we were today? Take as many guesses as you want—you'll never guess this one. Not in a million years.
Four rows from the back, sitting on the aisle, was a woman in her seventies.
As Jack passed her, and then as I passed her, I sensed that she was reaching out her hand toward me.
I looked over at her as I walked.
She was Miss Barbara.
I took her hand in mine and she squeezed it, and then we were out the door, and again I wanted to tell him. Guess who was here, Jack. I know you'll get it—think hard. Guess who came to see you today.
I wanted to tell him everything.
Bob Greene is a bestselling author and an award-winning journalist.
Excerpted from the book "And You Know You Should Be Glad: A True Story of Lifelong Friendship" by Bob Greene, published by William Morrow. Copyright © 2006 by John Deadline Enterprises, Inc.