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It happens when I’m driving. Or when I’m taking a break from work. Or in the split second when I’m waking up.

It happens a dozen times a day. Maybe more.

It’s a sudden realization that something is wrong — but I can’t remember what it is. That jolt makes me feel panic, as though there’s some terrible unspoken thing that threatens me — something I just can’t put my finger on. Something I can’t quite pull from my foggy memory.

The panic is physical. It does something in the center of my chest.

My heart starts to pound. In a brief instant, I become something like a caged animal ready to strike out at danger. But what is the danger? What is the threat? Why can’t I see it? What can’t I remember?

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A human life comes to an end only once, but the spirit can die multiple times. In every life, there are a few painful deaths — deaths of dreams, of relationships, of hopes — that make it feel as though the world has come to an end.

I had to face one of those devastating and painful deaths tonight.

I loved her. I probably always will. Each love of your life feels special, but this one was different. How many hurts will I take to my grave as unresolved pain? Not many. Most losses don’t matter that much in the long run. But this is one that I will think about — and bitterly regret — on the day that I die.

I’ve known her for years. From the first time we ran into each other online about 13 years ago, I knew she was special. I wanted to pursue her at the time, but we went our separate ways instead. We remained the most casual of friends, almost never making contact until a bit more than three years ago.

And then she turned my world upside down.

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I was ushered into a conference room at radio station WERC-AM. As I sat at a wooden conference table, Paul Finebaum sat across from me. He was flanked by a couple of guys from the production staff of his popular Birmingham radio talk show.

I was nervous and hoped it wouldn’t show.

It was sometime in the mid 1990s, but I can’t recall the year. The show had run a contest to find guest hosts from the audience to be on the air one week in the summer when Finebaum would be on vacation. It was called the Finebaum Fantasy Fill-in.

I had completed a written application to be considered, but I had no idea whether I had a shot. I was excited to get the call to tell me I was one of the ones being interviewed for a slot. And now here I was facing Finebaum and his producers.

In person, Finebaum wasn’t the caustic personality I had known on the air. He seemed strikingly intelligent and almost quiet. On the air, he was boisterous and loud. In the interview, we somehow hit it off.

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