Daily Newsie

Although in the back of my mind I know that no one is immortal, it’s still a nasty shock when a source suddenly skips town for the Choir Eternal. The last time this happened to me, I expected it: Sarah had been in the final stages of lung cancer since I’d known her, and had been too ill to talk to me on the phone the last time I called her.

This time, I feel blindsided. Brooks Mitchell, the former chairman of the Downtown Redevelopment Authority, died in a motorcycle crash this morning.

I just saw Brooks last month at the DRA’s annual meeting, where we joked and laughed and he thanked me for my help with the organization. We always meant to go for coffee one of these days, an arrangement set up when he stopped by the office to shake my hand and thank me for the thank-you card I sent him after he helped me out with a story.

We never made it to Spencer’s, and now we never will.

I planned to send Brooks a card on Monday, congratulating him on the end of his two-year run as DRA president. I can’t decide whether I’m happy or sad that I didn’t send it on Friday, when the idea occurred to me. I’m marginally comforted by the knowledge that it never would have made it to him in time, anyway.

This feeling is very strange: This not knowing whether to throw away his business card or take his tab out of my Rolodex. For now, as with my grandmother’s phone number, I’ll leave it there as a reminder to always tell people how appreciated they are.

I’m glad Brooks knew how much I appreciated him.

Godspeed.