One Week On
If you go by the death certificate, the official time was 5:20 PM. Those of us in the room when it happened know that in reality it was 4:59 PM. We know this because, independently of each other despite it being simultaneous, we all checked the time, whether by watch, cell phone, or the clock on the wall.
Either way, we just passed the official one week mark. For the record, thus far the only time it becomes glaringly apparent to me is when I’m listening to or watching a Red Sox game — whether it was this past weekend watching at the hotel bar or at his apartment, or just yesterday watching at New Old Lompoc.
Game moments accumulate in my mind for later discussion with him on the phone after the game.
These discussions, of course, never will happen again. There are people and places, inevitably, where games could be discussed. But none of those discussions will be with the person responsible for me being a Red Sox fan in the first place.