Quentin Fields was a basketball player. He was also a son. A brother. Somebody’s teammate. Somebody’s friend. I never knew Quentin Fields and I guess now I never will. Grief is like the ocean: it’s deep and dark and bigger than all of us. And pain is like a thief in the night. Quiet. Persistent. Unfair. Diminished by time and faith and love. I didn’t know Quentin Fields but I’m jealous of him. Because I see how his absence has affected the people that did know him so I know that he did matter to them. And I know he was loved. People say Quentin Fields was a great basketball player. Graceful. Fluid. Inspiring. They say on a good night it almost seemed as though he could fly.
And now he can.