On loss.

The wins mean little. Ask Jamie Dixon.
The triumphs are hollow. Ask Pat Summit.
Sometimes glory fades with time. Sometimes glory is forced to the side by agony, drowned by sorrowed and punched by fate.
I am 28 years old this month. I learned last week what I already knew. I am vulnerable. We are all vulnerable. We can be succesful, fit, attractive, popular, and still drop dead for no reason.
Maggie Dixon was all of those things and more and she did just that. She took a day to help a coaching fried who had lost a job, something that happens to coaches often. She sat and has tea. She left in an ambulance and was gone a day later.
I, of course, did not know her. I, obviously, know many Maggie Dixons. Succesful, attractive, popular, and nearly a proffesional athlete. How do we know when it is coming? Can we do anything to stop the next one?
I remeber Hank Gathers. Reggie Lewis. Is this any different?
Of course not. The bell tolls for all, friends.
Gather ye rosebuds why ye may. Carpe Diem.