Last week at work, they posted Mike's old job on the office bulletin board. Obviously, they'll need to hire someone. Obviously. Football starts next month. But when I saw that hanging there, I literally felt like I had been punched in the chest. I was unable to breathe. I still gasp when I walk past it. (I'm pretty sure I won't be able to work here anymore once there's someone else sitting in Mike's old desk, but that's another story.)
But there it is. The world is moving on.
At my house, it took me two weeks to pick up the pair of jeans that Mike left laying on the floor next to the bed. I did finally throw away the gazillion bottles of pills, but I still can't bring myself to do his dirty laundry. It was the last clothes he wore. If I wash it, there will be no traces of him, nothing that he touched. His toothbrush is still next to mine. All the coins he had lined up on his dresser are there collecting dust. I could barely bring myself to flip the calendar over to July because when it was June, Mike had been here.
I just don't like the idea of moving forward without him.
Julia and I did have a nice day at the beach a couple weeks ago. My friend Andrew got some great pictures.
2 comments:
Carrie,
This may be a little too inside baseball but there's a saying in coaching: You never want to be the guy who replaces John Wooden.
Or, in sportswriting circles, Mike Cherry.
He'll never be forgotten — by the thousands of people he covered, by the hundreds of thousands who read him, by all of his friends. And he'll never, ever be replaced. Someone will get the job but no one can fill those XXXL shoes.
Be well.
Jeff D.
That lil girl is beautiful!
Sending you some love from up this way.
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