Madison

 Here's the strange thing:

I never met Madison Taylor in person.

But when I read my friend Steve Huffman's Facebook post early Friday morning noting that his longtime friend, Madison, had died the previous afternoon, I felt the sudden shock and sadness as if I'd known Madison for decades.

In truth, I'd known him for only a couple of years. And that was only through his Facebook posts.

Madison Taylor

 I knew that Madison, a former sportswriter and news editor for The Burlington Times-News, had been ill, but it was never clear to me that he was deathly ill. He was only 62 when he died at Duke University Hospital, diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis and emphysema. His lungs could no longer fill with the magical and magisterial breath that sustains us all.

I'm not quite sure why Madison's death affected me so. We became Facebook friends after he commented on several of my blogs (I sometimes wonder if he had a red cyber pencil at the ready), and usually, his posts to me were supportive and complimentary. There's no greater satisfaction for a journalist than earning the respect of his peers. So there's that.

But I think there's something else going on here.

The foundation of our brief friendship isn't strong enough for me to offer a proper obituary, much less an eulogy. Others are doing that copiously in their posts the past few days, and it's a way for me to learn more about Madison and the life he lived. Curiously, some – like me – never met him in person. And, yet – like me – they are moved. That has to tell you something about the man.

I think for me, however, Madison's death marks – what, an awareness? An alert? A reminder? A bell in the fog? Madison wasn't even old enough to collect full Social Security. Conversely, I am about ready to plow a little deeper into my 70s. So, yes, I am reminded of the transitory nature of our journey, of how we make that journey and with whom we make that journey.

Ours is more of a tale of paths crossed.

And for that, I am grateful.

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