Dear Howie

I owe you a phone call, Howie.

Three weeks ago, you left me a message, wishing Dan, me, and the kids a happy Easter. You were always so damn thoughtful like that. I wasn't able to talk, as we were on our way home from South Carolina, and the kids were a wreck.

"Hope you guys are well," I texted, knowing you were in the thick of March Madness work. "Let's catch up when you're done with tourney time."

I was going to call you this weekend. I even had a note on my calendar so I wouldn't forget. And then, as I casually dropped in on Twitter for the first time in ages on Saturday morning, I saw it: Dickie V's tweet announcing your death.

I should have called you sooner, Howie. I'm so, so sorry I didn't.

If we'd talked yesterday, I'd have asked you how you were doing, and what plans you and Susie had now that the NCAA tournament was over. We'd have talked about the NFL draft, especially who we thought my estranged Commanders would pick at No. 2: Jayden Daniels or Drake Maye.

I for sure would have told you about TJ's first tee ball game that morning, and how he's turning out to be as sports-crazed as his mom. You'd laugh as I told you how he knows the names of almost every driver in NASCAR — and their numbers! — by heart, and he's not even 5. Someday, I'd tell you, he might have a good shot at stumping the Schwab.

I'm heartbroken to know that he won't.

About an hour after the news broke, as the shock began to wane, I cried on the floor, in the middle of the sea of toys my kids were playing with. TJ walked over and asked me what was wrong, and I told him the truth: One of mommy's very good friends died. I reached for my phone and scrolled through my photos to find one of you. It took a bit, I'm embarrassed to admit, because the most recent one I have is from my wedding almost nine years ago. He looked at the picture and asked who you were.

Howie was almost as popular as we were at our wedding in 2019. And he was a good sport during our Mardi Gras-themed Hora Loca.

What a question, Howie, because it's impossible to explain that in a concise way. Even in the relatively small sliver of your life when I knew you, you were so very many things. ESPN Icon, of course. Sports media entrepreneur. Devoted caretaker to Jodi before her passing. Head-over-heels newlywed to Suzie a few years later. Dickie V's right-hand man. Make a Wish ambassador. Consummate New Yorker. Content semi-retired Floridian.

I could tell him about the cult star you became through Stump the Schwab, and how people would light up when they saw you on a campus for College Game Day. About how you almost never refused a picture or an autograph when someone asked. About how you patiently and kindly fielded all kinds of (often stupid) questions people would shout your way, attempting to stump you (for what it's worth, I don't recall a time that they ever did).

I could tell him about how I met you by complete chance in a Raleigh bar almost two decades ago, when I gathered the guts to say hello to Stuart Scott while getting a drink and he knew, after talking to me for five minutes, I'd be thrilled to meet you. About how, by getting Carla and me passes to hang out with you and the crew for College Game Day at Carolina that spring, you brought me as close to my youthful dream job as I'd ever get. About how, thanks to you, I got to shoot the shit with Jay Bilas and Rece Davis and future UNC coach Hubert Davis (and, of course, Dickie V).

Getting to meet the on-camera stars for Game Day was always fun, but the best parts were just hanging out and chatting behind the scenes with Howie.

About that time you got Darrell Green — my all-time favorite Washington football player — to leave me a voicemail, and that other time you asked Joe Gibbs to sign an autograph for me when you crossed paths at an event.

About that time you opened your Connecticut home to my parents, my then-boyfriend/now-husband, and me for a pit stop on our way home from a wedding in New Hampshire. How you had an entire lunch spread ready for us, and you bonded with my Dad over your shared love of the New York Giants. How, after that visit, you always asked about them when we talked — and how much that meant to me.

How you never forgot my birthday, and always reached out anytime the Tar Heels/Washington Football Establishment/Nationals/Capitals had a big game. How you came to Dan's and my wedding and graciously accommodated the many attempts to stump you from our friends and family at the reception. How you sent thoughtful gifts when my kids were born. How you sent me a heartfelt note of support last fall, when Maggie began her spica cast journey.

As much as I dislike Duke basketball, getting to visit Cameron Indoor Stadium was a sports bucket-list item that came true thanks to Howie's divine intervention.

I'll tell him about the outpouring of tributes to you across social media in the last 24 hours, and how mentions of sports are vastly outnumbered by personal vignettes about how your kindness and generosity brought happiness to so many people's lives.

And how ridiculously, stinkin' lucky I am to be one of them.

I'm sorry I didn't call, Howie. I'm sorry I didn't say all of this in person — or at least, voice to voice — to thank you for the gift of your friendship.

I'm so grateful that Stu introduced us all those years ago. And today, I hope the two of you are catching up somewhere beautiful on the other side. As for us here, your memory will always be a blessing.