People pass out of our lives

This post contains some sad stuff. You have been warned.

David Whitney died Monday morning. He was 24. David was an up-and-coming bike racer, coffee-maker, drummer, pharmacy student, budding bike mechanic, and much much more. He died driving his car, although his bike was on the rack at the back of the car. The article in the Oldham Era web site pays scant tribute to who David was (although I must admit, such articles rarely satisfy the friends and family of the subject person).

I knew David as a nice guy who loved to ride, and who was riding well. He was exploding into his bicycle racing career--he had four podium finishes in three weekends earlier this year. He was, as I often say I am, "loving life."

On Tuesday evening, I was talking to my mother, and learned that a cousin had not been heard from since Saturday. She was not one to ignore phone messages, but she had not returned any calls since talking to her mother (my mom's sister) Saturday afternoon. Anne's husband was out of town, visiting his own family in Canada (their home is in Maryland), and also was not getting calls returned.

He had the local police break into their house Tuesday evening, and they found Anne dead on the living room sofa. I don't know when she died, other than between Saturday afternoon and Tuesday. I learned of this Wednesday morning.

Anne had been my favorite cousin. She had fought an assortment of inner demons for many years, some perhaps spawned by the sudden and untimely passing of her father due to a massive heart attack in 1973 or so. As a result, some of her life choices were perhaps harder on her body than they might have been. I don't have reason to suspect suicide at this point, but I really don't know. The autopsy may give the family some answers, or it may not.

On top of all that, my sister reminded me in a phone message last night that yesterday would have been my paternal grandfather's hundredth birthday. He had the temerity to pass on five years ago, again before the rest of us were ready to miss him. I received some pictures of him and of my grandmother (including one of her with her parents) from my father via email today, and seeing them was a bittersweet experience for me.

All of this has made my brain fuzzy for the last few days. I've not been able to focus on tasks as well as I need to do. I suppose I have a legitimate excuse, but it's still hard to not get stuff done that I really need to do. I still have been riding instead of driving, including riding the Globe with the Ergon grips for all of my transportation on Wednesday, and I even managed to get to the press conference about the Big Four Bridge yesterday. I just couldn't DO much about being there.

I need to get out of this brain fog. Maybe sleep will help. Good night.