A friend of mine passed away last week and I’ve been walking around with this hollow, dull, shell-shocked feeling. I didn’t get a chance to see him very often, but already, the world seems emptier without him.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll be walking into the SCBWI conference to pick up my badge. I’m going to turn around to get some coffee and he should be there, chatting with his critique group, an excited smile on his face.

Later, I should run into him in the hallway between sessions and we’d chat about which authors’ talks we loved and which ones we’d fallen asleep during. We’d compare notes about our individual critiques, pulling apart each phrase and dissecting it to get at what the editor had really meant when she’d said ‘nice font.’

He should be there. But I know in my sinking heart, that that is not going to happen. That shoulds do not always work out in this painful, beautiful world we live in. And so tomorrow there will be an terribly empty spot in the lobby where he should be standing. There will be an empty spot on my bookshelf where his book should’ve been sitting. And an empty spot inside of me.

No. Not empty. Full of the joy of knowing him and the sadness for all of us that will miss him.

Tomorrow, when I walk across that crowded room, I’ll smile and think of all the imagination, humor, and support he gave to us. Knowing that in that way, and so many others, he’s still right here with us.

Posted in Writing

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