Loss.

Most of you who read this blog know of (or know) Marty McGowan. Our biggest fan, our most loyal and ardent follower. Class of 1973, Marist Cross Country, Forever Fox. Earlier this fall, Marty’s beloved wife of 30 years, Annie, lost a courageous battle with cancer. This is an open letter to my dear friend Marty McGowan:

Marty. Dude. Brother. I wish I could give you a hug. I wish I could hug away your pain. But, I cannot. We cannot. Your pain is acute, real, unfathomable. You lost your best friend. You lost a woman who’s smile lit up every room. Her voice seemed to emanate a smile, even over the phone. She was your sunshine. Your best friend. You married up. Hell, most of us men, we marry up, don’t we? So many of us, we are blessed by loving, beautiful spouses, and yours was a blessed marriage. When I came into your home at 101 E Raleigh, before the NYC Marathon, within seconds of entering, I felt at home. You did that. She did that. And now your home has a chasm in it. A gaping hole that can never be filled, except in your loving memories. Gone too soon, dreaded friggin cancer, again, takes another good, wonderful, beautiful soul. I know you read this blog every morning. My intention is not to make you cry, although it is probable that this will bring some tears. Rather, my intention is to know that you are loved. You have an extended family of Foxes up here. These young, shirtless punks, they don’t know who you are, but you are connected to them. Fifty years ago, you were one of them, logging your miles on the same campus and similar roads that they do now. There is a connection and always will be. At practice, I have spoken of the “old guy down in Staten Island” who is their biggest fan. They’ve seen you hanging around with me, with us, at Ocean Breeze, when you can get there. So, they know. I hope you can feel our love. If a simple, humble, short blog post can hug, let this be it. With love.