Fixing a Hole

"Who is going to explain everything to us now?"

That was my mother's reaction this afternoon when I asked her if she had heard the news about the death of Tim Russert. She was so upset she all but hung up on me.

When I got the "breaking news" email this afternoon I actually gasped. Beth asked me, what's wrong? I almost couldn't tell her; I knew she would be as upset as I was. We sat in our office, stunned, for the rest of the afternoon. Wendy called from home once she found out about it -- all of us interested in the world, in politics, in the personalities at NBC News.

For months I've gone to my class at the gym on Tuesday nights with an eye on the clock, knowing what time that day's primary polls were closing, knowing I was going to go home and spent a cozy evening with Tim, Keith, Chris and cousin Brian.

I've had a love for politics and policy for about 16 years now -- I can trace it back to a certain day in a certain class in another life of mine. Watching MTP wasn't really a cool thing to do with my college friends -- I always felt like it was my dirty little secret. Sunday is always my "sleep in" day and somehow I am always awake in time for Tim (and on a slow news day, the Sports Reporters). It's like dessert for breakfast. Sort of like how other people like to spend Sunday morning reading the New York Times or working on a crossword puzzle. Every week I get an email telling me who is going to get grilled on Meet the Press and I announce it to anyone who I think will care. My DVR has been set to record it for a couple of years now, just in case I oversleep.

How will this ever be the same? It certainly won't be as much fun.