I just found out that an attorney I used to work with at DOJ died last week of a heart attack while playing his usual Thursday night basketball game with colleagues. He was 45. His son is 8; his daughter is 6. Jesus.

The paralegals always used to make fun of him because he had a peculiar way of speaking -- kind of slow, very deliberate. Sometimes several seconds would lapse after you asked him a question or made a comment, and then just as you thought he hadn't heard, he'd finally respond. But our fun-making was never barbed; that was one of Reggie's quirks, and unlike some other attorneys in the section, we were rather fond of him. I wasn't as close with him as other paralegals were, but even a couple years after I left Justice, when I saw him at a former colleague's farewell party, he gave me one of his slow, big smiles and asked how I was doing as if he cared about the response. A little socially rough around the edges, but a kind man.

Why do we always have the urge to share our memories of the dead? I don't know. I don't think any of you reading this know Reggie -- no, knew Reggie. Maybe it's just the urge to memorialize the person. So that he leaves a mark behind, even on people who didn't know him.