Carey Downs and Reese Lewis.
There are places in my heart I call “dead zones.” They’re the emotional spaces—now gone numb and empty—I once reserved for people who touched my life. When one of those people dies, his or her spot in my heart goes numb. The departed still live in my head, I still smile when I think of them. But that place in my heart I set aside for a Mike Fiore or a Reese Lewis or a Tom Newby becomes a void. I no longer remember those people emotionally—it’s just too hard.
Everyone processes death differently. That’s my process. Not good or bad, just mine.
In a couple of days, we’ll celebrate Thanksgiving—my favorite holiday because I am blessed with a tight family and an oddball assortment of loyal friends, and I love to eat and drink. That my girlfriend’s family winery makes one of the better Cabernet Sauvignons in Napa Valley, Calif., also doesn’t hurt. (When you count your blessings, it’s important to remember that every blessing counts.)