Last month I wrote a post titled “Celebrating a Friend” in which I shared some thoughts and feelings about mystery writer and good friend, Jeff Sherratt. At the time Jeff was quite ill, and I wanted to make sure that he, above anyone else, read those words.

Among other things, I wrote the following: “At present Jeff is dealing with some serious health issues. He may not be here next month. Or he and I may be engaging in our usual multi-weekly shtick ten years from now.”

I wrote the latter option with my heart, but my head knew better.

Jeff passed away a few nights ago from complications of pulmonary fibrosis. He was seventy years old. His wife, Judy, said that he went quickly and peacefully.

Why did I write about him when I did? As I explained then: “I’ve done newsletters and articles about friends, colleagues, and family that have passed. This time, I want to celebrate the life of someone who, despite his challenges, continues to give so much pleasure to others.”

Jeff Sherratt, mystery writer and friend

Now, more than ever I’m so glad that I did this. Jeff got to read the post, and he enjoyed it, responding in his inimitable way: “Wow, I’d like to meet that guy… But wait, he’s talking about me…”

Jeff passed on Saturday night. During the day we’d sent a couple of e-mails each to the other. For some time now he had been formatting my rewritten old novels for e-publishing, the latest coming back to me a day earlier. Finding an error on my part, I asked him to fix it, which he did. I had also vented about some stupid thing or another a couple of days back—we did a lot of that with each other—so when he returned my repaired file he said that he had some venting to do also. It had to do with his insurance company possibly denying him the option of a lung transplant for some bureaucratic reason. Turned out not to be so, but in the interim I sent him back an imaginary scenario of a bunch of old money-grubbing insurance guys having a meeting and figuring out how to dance around his needs. Jeff e-mailed back, said it was absolutely hysterical, and mentioned that his daughter the lawyer was working on the problem. He finished with these words, “There ought to be a law… But wait, there is a law… Then there ought to be a law that says everyone has to follow the law… But wait…” As usual, that cracked me up.

Jeff (l) and me

Those were our last e-mails to each other. More shtick. How apropos; neither of us would’ve wanted it any other way.

The void in my life is already large. It will continue to grow.

I love you, bro. Say hi to everyone in the Writers’ Afterward. I’m sure you will enjoy some long chats with Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Mickey Spillane—and your buddy, the newly arrived Ray Bradbury.

You will be missed—but you will never be forgotten.