As time was running down on the Packers’ season, it was with each passing second that I realized how little an NFL playoff game could matter.

That Saturday evening I found myself in a Chicago hotel room staring at the television but not even sure if I had seen any of the game. My emotions, which usually reside in athletic events, were lost in a world far more real than sports. Earlier that day I was standing side-by-side with many of my friends from Witte 4A. Usually a joyous occasion, the reality of the situation sank in as I looked up to see one of my good friends in the front of the church.

A funeral is never an easy thing, but this time I felt as though I was in a movie.

I had the opportunity to live next to Mark Mueller for the entire year and a half that I have been on this campus. To many people Mueller is merely the student who died on New Year’s Day, but to friends of “Denim,” he represented everything that a good person should be.

“Dennis” worked at Camp Randall, was a volunteer and was a good student. He was the fun guy to go to dinner with, the athletic guy you wanted on your team and the brother that you wanted to grow up with. The memories are numerous, the smiles are many, but since New Year’s Day the thoughts have sometimes become overbearing.

I traveled over five hours that Saturday, and I embarked on another 2,000 miles of flight in the wee hours of Sunday morning. For me this Packers game will be one that I will never forget, yet can’t seem to remember. The game itself was not important, but that evening I found myself trying to realize what was.

For the first time I can remember I walked over to a chair, picked up my CD player and walked out of a room with no intention of seeing if the Packers could win the game. As I walked outside there was a gentle snow falling; it was the same softness that had fallen from the sky as I left the church earlier that day.

It’s hard to explain the feelings that I felt that night as I walked towards an open field and watched as airplanes flew overhead. Seeing the footprints I left in the snow and looking at the vast array of white emptiness in front of me, I was left to contemplate.

Mark loved playing sports, and on many occasions we would watch the big games together. Our floor was involved in countless seasons of college football for Playstation 2, and we all wished that RBI baseball actually could count for life achievements. Daily postings of a big game or a surprise victory would adorn the hallways of the 4th floor for days.

That Saturday night I knew that the Packers would not pull off a victory against the Falcons, and I should have been upset to see all of those records fall; but in all honesty, I didn’t care. That night I was going to lose no matter which way the score leaned, and I was going to be forced to have a rebuilding year.

Death is a difficult issue for any college student to handle, but it is the ability to see the positive in an event that leads our youthful vigilance to overcome. Anyone who is interested in sports undoubtedly watched as Ohio State won the national championship or watched as the Packers season came to an end. For this sports fan, however, these games just don’t hold the same significance as they once did. If in 15 years I can’t remember Ohio State’s victory, I won’t be upset; but in all my life if I ever forget “Denim,” I will be living a life of disappointment.

Arriving in Madison a week early to start my new position at this newspaper, I walked past the place where my friend likely took his last breath and, with the snow falling, I couldn’t help but expect to see him upon my return to Witte.

The next day I arrived on the fourth floor where so many memories were made. I walked to my room alone, and I pray that few people have to endure that feeling of seeing the empty door of a friend’s room.

I was by myself for the moment as I walked past that door, but I realized that I would never be alone.

Thanks for all the memories “Denny.” We’ll miss you.