So T and I sat down to look at the Bills game last night, and thus we, along with millions, watched in real time as Damar Hamlin suffered cardiac arrest and collapsed on the field. It was horrifying--both the event itself and the distress of the other players . . . a tight circle of weeping young men, each trembling with pain, fear, and bewilderment.

The moment was dreadful; I imagine everyone who saw it is still shaken.

Of course the game had to stop. None of the players would have been able to continue; that was clear. 

I was convinced last night that Damar had died on the field, but the medics restarted his heartbeat, and somehow he is still alive this morning.

And here I am, also alive, apparently, though why does the experience of watching someone almost die on TV feel so personal? Death with commercial breaks. Death with talking-head commentary. It was gruesome.

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As you can see, I'm having a bit of trouble gearing myself for the day. I'm supposed to head north this afternoon, but there may be weather and/or scheduling issues, so it's possible the class will be postponed. I've got editing to do, a phone meeting, all kinds of teaching prep to undertake . . . the week will be packed, whether or not I'm in the classroom.

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Send a little love to the boys on the field, if you can. It's easy to forget how young they are, until you see them in tears.