They have a sushi roll named after me here. It's probably due to the fact I'm here all the time, but still, pretty crazy, right?

The smile on Josh Samman's face was radiant as we sat down at the table. He spent the next few minutes talking about how it was his favorite sushi place in all of South Florida, assuring me it had nothing to do with the close proximity to his house, which was just two and a half blocks away.

He would repeat several times "The Josh Roll" was most likely due to him being a UFC fighter, but when the owner came around the corner to our table, I could see that wasn't the case. The two men exchanged pleasantries and quips, and Samman's easy nature amplified the owner's joy significantly.

I knew in that moment the menu item had very little--if anything--to do with Josh being a professional athlete and everything to do with his presence. After introducing me, the man assured, "You are in good hands with this guy. We love having him here."





Sitting here thinking about everything that has happened in the past few days, I couldn't agree more. I can't remember the name of the restaurant, nor the kind man who had so many great things to say about him; the only thing I can remember is how happy Josh was in that moment.

The food would arrive and I would listen as Samman pointed out elements that he deemed to be cool and unusual details of the decor. Somewhere in the mix of that conversation, Samman noticed the general blankness on my face while looking at the plates on the table.

"Come on, Finley," he laughed. "I know you are a meat-and-potatoes guy, but don't tell me you don't dig sushi. I can't imagine Renee would allow that."

He was right, and he knew it. My wife of 15 years is an avid lover of sushi, and my lack of care toward it would be something her and Samman would joke about in the weeks following my stay in Florida.

Whether on Facebook, through personal message or via phone call, Samman always found his opening to throw a quick jab in my direction, and by making sure my wife was on board, he also ensured I'd catch a few extra around the house.

In the better part of the decade I'd been sitting with fighters, I'd sat with very few who were more inclined to listen than to talk. This was especially so since my very job was to listen to their stories and translate my thoughts to the masses. Samman was more interested in the process of it all and genuinely wanted to know how I went about things.

"How would you tell my story, for example?" he asked later that night as we sat on his back patio watching the summer Florida rain bounce off the concrete just at the edge of where his porch light faded to darkness.

"I don't think I could do it justice," I replied without hesitation.





There was a long pause, and he leaned back in the wrought iron chair, bringing a hand to his beard. The smile once present was gone in that moment, and he stared off into the void beyond the lights 1,000 miles away. He knew I wasn't talking about his career as a fighter, but rather his overall journey, and knowing this made it all very personal.

I watched him drift into those thoughts, and keep himself there for moments on end, to the point where the sound of the rain trumped all. He stopped rocking back and forth, sat perfectly still and allowed it all to come back. Some say pain is a constant reminder of being alive, just as others insist the weight of it all keeps us bound to it.

Josh believed both things to be true, and for reasons many won't understand, preferred it that way.

I didn't think I could do it justice then, but yet here I am.

If I could go back in that moment, what I would clarify is that I don't believe I could have told his story better than he did in his own book, The Housekeeper. While wrought with tragedy and personal adversity, the book is a love story told from the very fibers of his soul. Most people aren't gifted enough to paint a picture filled with their greatest triumphs and most devastating losses, but Josh did so brilliantly.

Awesome letter from org we worked with in Florida few months ago. @operationsmile go give them a follow. pic.twitter.com/TToO5qNgLR — Josh Samman (@JoshSamman) September 7, 2016

Nevertheless, it took him standing in the middle of that emotional traffic to bring his story to the page, and there is not a doubt in my mind he took more damage reliving everything that happened.

I stood up to fetch another beer with full intention of leaving him in his memories, but he suddenly rocked back up in his chair and snapped back to the here and now.

"It's deep out there," Josh said pointing at nothing, eyes no longer fixed on anything.

"It sure is, brother," I replied. "It sure is."

"How'd you find your way back, if you don't mind me asking?"

And I didn't mind at all.

While I'd never experienced the personal loss he went through when his girlfriend, Hailey, tragically died, I'm more than versed when it comes to the world of substance abuse.

Seven years prior to our conversation, the continuous chain of wrong turns finally reached a point of hopelessness, which was quite a shock for a man whose blind confidence has always assured him he'd get where he's going. The decisions made at that time nearly cost me everything I loved, and the recognition in the aftermath assured me I'd be forced to confront my issues every day going forward for the rest of my life.

Josh and I sat long into the night talking about troubled pasts and landmines both avoided and detonated. We bonded over having emerged from a realm where so few never return. We talked about going over the edge, somehow making it back, the costs paid and what not.

When you carry that affliction, there are few in your world you can truly talk to who won't carry judgement because they understand.

And no quicker do I write those words does the realization I don't understand what happened hit me flush.

Dec 6, 2014; Las Vegas, NV, USA; Eddie Gordon (red) and Josh Samman (blue) during UFC 181 at Madalay Bay Events Center. Samman won via second round KO. Mandatory Credit: Joe Camporeale-USA TODAY Sports

Conversation bounced from one topic to the next, and before I knew it, the night had been burned away with story after story in a string of nonstop chatter. Woven in between, we ate chicken, looked through his book collection and made another mad dash indoors when the tropical rain shifted and came blasting our way.

Once in the living room, we continued to talk about all the things we found interesting in life. Directly to my right sat a huge flat-screen TV, but rather than flip it on and let the conversation fade, Josh never once picked up the remote. Funny enough, we eventually started talking about television rather than watching it, and I don't know why that stands out to me, but it does.

We talked Game of Thrones theories, and Josh's season six finale predictions ultimately came true. He must have sent half a dozen texts over that night to further his point, which was one of his signature calling cards. When Josh was right, he let you know, but it was never rubbing it in as much as it was explaining how he got there.

That seems strange to say in the wake of where things ended up, and knowing this plays a large role in my confusion about it all.

The next three days played out much the same as the first day I spent staying at his home. I'd been sent to South Florida by FloCombat to shoot some video with Muhammed "King Mo" Lawal for Chael Sonnen's Submission Underground, and rather than see me put up in a hotel, Josh offered up a place in his home.

I took him up on it without hesitation, because getting the chance to spend time with a friend is never anything I willingly pass up. I'm glad I didn't.

Peñuela Fight Photography & Video

I wasn't there to do a story on him, and his ease in handling my hectic comings and goings proved his genuine nature and generosity. Once my interviews were done and his training sessions for the day were in the books, we'd find another gem buried deep into a neighborhood, and he'd guide me through the menu.

"I don't care if you can handle spice or not, but you're trying this," Samman said as we sat on the sidewalk outside of a Peruvian diner. The waitress would come out from time to time to laugh at me, but was always merciful enough to bring a Miller High Life in tow. And despite my watering eyes, I liked the food just as much as Josh promised I would.

He was always good like that.

The day I was leaving, I spent the morning having breakfast with Dustin Poirier. We were meeting 35 miles up the road from Josh's house, and despite Josh's demand to give me a lift to where I needed, I ultimately chose to take an Uber to the destination. It was early, and Josh had a few rough hours at the gym ahead of him, and I wanted to let him sleep.

Can't help but think I missed out on some great conversation for that choice.

Things would turn out fairly humorous, because Poirier refused to let me Uber it back down to Samman's, and we ended up having one of those all-time great conversations as Dustin battled with his GPS over proper exits. He knew I was going to Samman's and made mention that he didn't really know him, but heard he was a good dude, and I assured him that was the proper read.

It's funny how the universe works. Because I didn't take that ride from Josh, it led to having a great experience with Poirier, and I'm discovering it's entirely possible to have gratitude and regret share the same space.

Poirier dropped me off at the door, and as he rolled away, I realized there was a good chance the door would be locked. Two steps later and sure enough, it was. Nevertheless, I had my computer with me and sat down on the tiles of Josh's porch to do some work, strapping on a defiant mug to the pounding Florida sun.

"I got this, no problem," I said to myself. Humidity said otherwise.

Samman would pull up just short of an hour later to find me a blustry mess on his front porch. The legs of my jeans pulled up to my knees, the sleeves of my tee shirt rolled up as well and a face stop-sign red. I could hear him laughing from his Jeep before the door ever opened, and the first thing he said was, "Dude, how long have you been sitting out here? There is a key right there!"

Somewhere in my mind I had imagined there would be a key underneath the doormat, but then I canceled that thought when I took Josh's complexities into account. I twisted my brain into thinking he had some other contraption for when things ran afoul, when in reality, all he did was keep it simple. It was right there, under the doormat as originally expected.

An hour or so later, he gave me a ride to the airport, and we made plans about getting together after his next fight was over. He made me promise to bring Renee down on my next trip and in return promised me he'd get up to see the kids in the fall. They were all wonderful plans, and I couldn't wait to see him again and to have long talks and share stories and enjoy all the things that come with having an incredible friendship.

As I grabbed my luggage out of the Jeep, I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. He returned the sentiment and said, "Like some long lost brothers or some shit." We both laughed, and I made my way into the airport.

I didn't know that would be the last time I saw him, because we never do, but I can't help but wonder if things would have been any different.

When I heard the news of what happened with Josh, it hurt like it was supposed to. I got angry like I was supposed to, then I was overcome by emotions I couldn't stop.

In my job, getting close to the people you write about is discouraged, but I've always said to Hell with all that. I'm not a journalist. I'm a storyteller, and for me to love what I do or to be good at what I do, I have to care. I have to experience who someone is in order to let you know who they are, and when something like this happens, all I can really share with you is how I knew him.

There is no way to stop the talk and negativity surrounding the way in which Josh Samman died, and rightfully so. There is an epidemic currently hitting our nation, and if others can learn from what happened to Josh and it saves a life, then there is one step toward turning a tragedy into a positive.

I'm not in a place to know anything about all that, because all I can think about is who he was and who he will always be in my eyes. Josh was a searcher, an artist, a fighter and a kind human being who brought joy to those he encountered. He was a brilliantly vibrant soul who created smiles just as big as the one he projected.

Josh was something special, and that's the way I'll always see him.

I'll miss him so much.