heading to college station today . . .

. . . because it's the only thing we know to do.

I landed in Austin on a flight Tuesday night. We were early and had no gate and waiting for like what seemed many hours on the tarmac. I turned on my phone and discovered five voice mail message notifications and a text to call a friend about "bad news about a colleague." I phoned Dana and she told me our dear friend took his own life. This is the sort of moment, not of disbelief but simply not having any practice or pattern for digestion.

I cried, making complete strangers uncomfortable and sad.

I had collected myself enough to make it to baggage claim and then the shuttle to the parking lot. Mirko called to ask if I was ok with the news, whereupon I tearfully told him no. And then, holding a card that I had written my parking location on (B6 39) I proceded to try to find my car as it rained.

I realized I lost the ability to count. I lit a cigar. Tried to think more clearly, and after twenty minutes eventually found my car.

Losing the ability to count is, thankfully, a rare event. But losing Jim---who was part of the fabric of my professional and personal life, a trusted mentor and friend---is disorienting and it will take me a little more time to find my (and our) place. His loss is a giant and heavy mess for so many of us because we loved him so much.

Rest in Peace friend. I still don't know what to say, but the words---like the numbers---will eventually come.