When I published my first novel, The Prophecy, back in 2014, many of my family and friends too the time to read it.

One of those early readers was Philip Strickland, a long-time friend of my father's. Dad and Philip met through work. Before their retirement, each one managed a county office for the Georgia Farm Bureau, Dad here locally, Philip a few counties south. They, along with a core group of other agency managers and coworkers, including Philip's cousin David E., formed a lifelong friendship that's lasted well beyond retirement.

Philip has been an avid supporter of my writing since reading my first novel. He's responsible for its one and only review on Apple. Over the years, as each book in the series was published, I sent him copies via Dad. When it came time for Philip to clean out his old books, he kindly gave me many of his beloved Science Fiction and Fantasy novels, stories by the great writers: Harry Harrison, Isaac Asimov, Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, Frank Herbert, Frederick Pohl, Philip Jose Farmer, and many others.

Sadly, Philip was diagnosed with cancer a few years back, and recently, his doctors told him that they could do very little more for him. When I decided to focus on writing non-romantic Science Fiction last year, I told him that if he hung in there until I finished it, I'd dedicate my first novel to him. I relayed the message through Dad, who told me it tickled Philip pink.

Then, as it became apparent that Philip would not make it to the publication of that first SciFi novel, I quietly decided to dedicate the first novel I finished to him, regardless of the content. His kindness and support over the past decade plus has meant as much to me as his steadfast friendship has meant to Dad.

A few days ago, Dad got a message from Philip's son that Philip had taken a turn for the worse. The next day, Dad went down and spent some time with him, along with many of their old Farm Bureau friends. That visit gave them one more day of that rare brand of everlasting friendship they shared, a day they enjoyed to its fullest.

The next evening, Dad received news that Philip had passed away, quietly, surrounded by his family.

I call few people friend, but Philip was among them, to me and to Dad, and to our family. His passing leaves a hole that can never be filled, and we will always remember him with the fondness built upon the laughter and loyalty accumulated over decades.

My first non-romantic SciFi novel will still bear his name in the dedication. I wish I'd been able to finish it soon enough for him to hold the book in his hands and read the dedication himself, the best memorial I can give to a man whose support and friendship so deeply influenced my career.

But I think he would've been pleased to know it was there, and to know that my very next book will also be dedicated to him.

Peace be unto you, Philip. May you rest forever among the stars.