Memory
I wrote this eulogy for my friend Josh Headrick. He passed away on November 2, 2025. I publish this here as a memorial to my friend. Memorials may be made to the American Cancer Association in Joshua’s honor.
I don’t know when I first met Josh because once we became friends, it happened so quickly it just sort of blended together. That was one of Josh’s greatest strengths, becoming friends with people. He did it so seamlessly, all the time.
He joked around. He got along with everyone. I hung out with older kids, with Will, and Josh was able to bridge all those same gaps right alongside me. I remember going to Photodrive shows, playing with my silly band, or hanging out at Whataburger. Josh was always there.
Memories are hard to sit with. They fill you up and make you the kind of full that’s uncomfortable to breathe, like after Thanksgiving.
Josh was always up for whatever. One time, Will, Josh, and I drove with the Photodrive crew out to the middle of nowhere in East Texas. I don’t even know where it was. We took my mom’s van, loaded it with as many people as we could, and got horribly stuck in the mud on a service road. Everyone had to get out, dig, and push that little Dodge Caravan free. The funny thing about Josh was he knew exactly what to do. He was one of those guys, purposeful, capable, good with his hands.
I’ve been to the Dr. Pepper Museum with Josh at least three times. Yesterday, I was working in our Dallas office. They have Dr. Pepper on tap next to the coffee.
Josh had little flings with girls all the time, secret moments on the senior trip or bus rides to Nebraska. He had such a big heart and was so thoughtful. He was easy to love.
When Josh and I really became good friends, I started coming over a lot and spending the night at his house. Friday nights we’d grab Mr. Jim’s pizza, side of garlic butter sauce. The next morning, Josh would wake up and say, “Dude, you want some pizza?” He loved pizza for breakfast. The first time shook me. I’m such a West Texas boy at heart. I didn’t really understand pizza until I moved to New York City.
Last year, in our house in Kingston, Brea built a fully custom entertainment unit for our living room. I set up my old N64, which Zephyr was immediately obsessed with. I loaded up Pokémon Snap and told him, “My friend Josh liked to play the first level of Pokémon Snap in time trials. You’re first.”
With Josh, there were so many times we’d just go drive, find somewhere new in Dallas to explore. We went to random malls during my senior year. I probably didn’t help his junior year much. I think he ditched class after senior skip day to hang out with me. My bad.
We stayed really great friends for a long time. In college, I had to take my sister’s car up to my dad’s house in Maine, and Josh was the obvious choice for a trip like that. I called him up and said, “Hey, I’ll cover everything. Want to go to Maine with me?” That trip was wild. We spent a great night in Memphis, eating barbecue and hearing live music. Then, being dumb 20-somethings, we tried to drive all night to D.C. but ended up crashing in the Appalachians somewhere. Josh was the one who said, “We need to pull over.” He was always smart and safe like that.
In Washington, D.C., we spent the day at the National Mall, the Lincoln Memorial, and Arlington National Cemetery. Then we went on to New York City, my first time there. And you know, the first time you go to New York, you don’t know what to do. So you go to Times Square, the theater district, Central Park. We got a slice of pizza at one of the 1,500 spots near Times Square. Josh said it was the best pizza ever.
He was such a huge Friends fan. Now I could show him the apartments but back then we didn’t know what we were doing. We wandered through SoHo, went shopping in Chinatown, and stayed at a Best Western there. Twelve years later, I’d pass that same Best Western every day on my way to our temporary office.
That trip taught me a few things that would stick:
Don’t leave valuables in the car.
Don’t expect the NYPD to help you.
One-way streets are real.
Josh and I once made a wrong turn onto Walker Street. Luckily it was empty, but a pedestrian still yelled, “Wrong way, Texas!” at us. What was his deal? He had no skin in the game.
We made it all the way up to Maine. It was a crazy road trip through places that would become so important in my life, Will in D.C., us in NYC, my folks in Maine. But the first time I ever experienced them was with Josh.
Honestly, that’s how it always was with Josh. So many of my firsts in that time of my life happened right there with him.
As soon as we heard about Josh’s cancer we started making plans to go down and see him. We knew it was serious and it had been way too long since we had everyone together.
After we hung out in July, Josh texted me:
“Man, I really loved seeing you yesterday, buddy. Sorry I’ve been such a bad friend and done a horrible job of keeping up. It meant so much to me when I saw you yesterday.”
We texted back and forth. I told him I had as much to blame, and then we hopped on the phone. I said I’d love to host him in New York, have him meet Zephyr and Ziggy. He said, “I’d love to go to that pizza place again.”
I think as humans we close our hearts often because it protects us from pain. But death forces them open. One of our last conversations, Josh told me how much he loved his sister, Jordan. “She’s my best friend,” he said. He was so proud of her, her job, her friends, her beliefs. He really loved you.
That kind of love ain’t going anywhere. That’s the thing you learn, people leave this plane but the love sticks around. It transfigures into something else that we get to hold onto and sticks around on us. It’s memories, it’s heartburn, it’s bubbly tummies, it’s secret moments.