We'll wake in better light

We are just transients on the earth, some meant to walk through nearly a century and some meant only for a brief warm darkness of the womb, and all those in between. I know that people die every day. My mind knows this, but my heart has this knowledge knocked into it each time death presents his untouchable face in my window. The world lost two good men today. One of them was barely more than a child, younger than me. And the other was, as I remember him, forever a child at heart. I didn't know Andrew, but I stood witness to the celebration of his extraordinary young life as his family and friends said their goodbyes. I cannot imagine their grief.

I've known for less that two hours about Steve's passing, and right now it doesn't feel real. I was so sure that he was going to make it through, that he was going to get a second chance. It seemed so ridiculous that a heart attack could take the likes of Steve Ellis. And yet there is already an article about his death in the Orlando Sentinel, so I guess it has to be true. Steve and my dad have been best friends for ages. He was such a special part of my childhood. I mean, Steve had the "cool factor." He was like a wild rambler who showed up every once in a while and the party seemed to come with him. He loved my dad. He loved my mother. He loved our family.

Steve should have been a Daddy. I think that, more than anything else, is what hurts so much about this, what seems so unfair. It was a long time before I realized that Brandon wasn't his son, because he certainly loved him like one. People are going to be honoring his passion and dedication to the Seminoles, but perhaps his love of children (and of Brandon in particular) was his greatest gift of all.

My heart aches for his family and my family.