Ten years ago a plane crashed killing ten men affiliated with the OSU basketball team, including two players. I was a sophomore, the same age as one of the players who died.
I don't have any specific memories other than seeing the news in my room in Indiahoma (happened on a Saturday and I went home ... a lot) and waiting in line to go to the memorial. The memorial itself, not in my memory banks. (I wrote about it though, but it's sappy weird 20-year-old musing, so not republishing here.)
Now I read articles about it, and that boy, and feel so sad. It feels almost selfish. I lost nothing. But I was part of that community, and like all of us, I still bleed orange.