Rozner: Tomorrow isn't just another day

There's no way to guess how many obituaries I've written over the years, paying tribute to the legends I've known, athletes I've covered and those that have touched our lives.

They are difficult pieces to write, but it's part of the job and those are the days when you simply put your head down and go to work.

It has to be done.

One such day was Memorial Day this year. While moving my daughter out of her college apartment, I got a text from a former teammate of Bill Buckner, informing me that Bill had passed away.

So what do you do?

Despite my girls' unflinching belief that I can manage 27 things at once, I cannot — especially without my laptop. So I finished filling the van in the rain, got home a couple hours later and before emptying the cargo I sat down and wrote 900 words, doing the best I could for one of the finest and most underrated hitters baseball has ever known.

Later while unloading the van — stopping numerous times to wonder how it all got packed in and where it all came from — I thought a lot about how Buckner's life was ruined by the cruelty of a city and a single error.

So wrong and so unfair.

It had been three weeks since my brother passed, which was not long after my dad, and I didn't see the connection until a few days later when a reader asked via email how I could pour that much emotion into a column so soon after.

The answer is you just do it.

Many of us have been forced to say the ultimate goodbye in these last 12 months. Many of us have held vigil bedside. Many of us have sat in those hospice rooms for days on end.

And people go to work every day after suffering terrible loss — horrific, life-altering loss far worse than what I encountered this year — because they have to, so what I was doing wasn't special.

What did seem odd to me in 2019 was writing about my family. It's not something I've made a habit of over the years, but it's something I've been encouraged to do by colleagues, a form of group therapy, if you will, and you have generously given me your time this year, allowing me to say the things I needed to say.

I thank you for that.

We do the best we can to move on, but there's much I feel bad about, things that will stay with me for a while — maybe forever.

I suppose I'm not in a position to judge that now.

The long and short of it is after my sister took her own life 35 years ago, my mom died of cancer, my dad and brother moved away and that was the end of my family.

I found an apartment, moved back to the city, got a job and started my life.

It was no one's fault. It just was. You accept reality and get on with it. The world does not pause for your tears.

I'm just sorry that no one could fix what was broken. There was too much pain. And too much time had passed.

This is what keeps me awake at night. But we're all haunted by our past, right?

There have been humorous moments along the way.

One gentleman tweeted me that he hated me on radio, hated me on TV and hated everything I write, but he was sorry for my loss.

How do you not laugh at someone who takes the time to tell you how much you're despised and offers condolences in the same sentence?

You have to marvel at the paradoxical nature of social media — and our culture in general — in such a moment.

But it did make me laugh.

Look, if you're self-worth is tied to the words you produce, or the words you speak, or having your picture in the paper or your face on TV, there's probably something huge missing in your life.

If that's your identity, if that's all you have, it must be a lonely and barren existence.

So with all that's happened in 2019 — and there's more than meets the eye — I can't tell you how many people have suggested that I probably can't wait for the calendar to flip to 2020.

And I'm here to say that I've never believed in such things.

I'm not looking forward to next year any more than I am tomorrow, because, it seems, a little luck is required to see tomorrow.

This year hasn't changed my perspective on anything because I've never lacked it. Got a heavy dose of that when I was young, so I don't think in terms of this year or next year or any year.

If my wife and girls are safe then today is a good day. It's that simple.

Happy New Year? I'm optimistic, but in the meantime, with all its sunlight and hope, there's tomorrow.

That's all. There's tomorrow. And tomorrow is very good.