I lost my mom a little more than a year ago.
Yesterday, I went to a funeral for my next door neighbor. He was a fantastic guy. Raced Porsches in his spare time. ALS took him way too young.
Late last year, the man I started my ad agency with died. He wasn’t even 50 yet.
Two years ago, my first boss in Wisconsin died of brain cancer in his young 60s.
At least five times a day, I am reminded of one of those people.
When you’re young, the world feels like it’s been there forever and will be there forever.
But, now, I’ve reached the age, where nearly everything I do, or see, reminds me of someone who is gone.
Pictures of my mother on the bookshelf.
The ramp leading to the house next door up which my neighbor would drive the electric wheelchair he had traded for his Porsche.
The old business card my partner designed laying among the clutter on my desk.
Everywhere I look there are ghosts.