Just to keep you all up to date, the son of a bitch who killed my coworker Julie Jorgenson has been charged with second-degree felony manslaughter, as well as driving under the influence of a controlled substance and assorted misdemeanors related to driving like a f**king idiot. You can read the details here, if you like.

The article I linked above includes a few more specifics on what actually happened that frigid morning: Shane Gillette’s truck was moving at 70 mph, on a road posted for 30 mph, when it struck Julie’s car; there was no evidence he even tried to brake; and his windshield had only about six square inches that were clear of frost. There aren’t enough expletives in my vocabulary to express my feelings about this irresponsible, lunk-headed waste of protein.

Incidentally, I’ve received a couple of emails from people who knew Julie far better than myself, and who’ve run across my blog entries about her. I’m gratified that they seem to feel I captured her pretty accurately. If they’re reading this, I’d like to extend my thanks for their thoughtfulness in contacting me and letting me know.

We’re starting to move on at the office, but there’s still a strange tension in the air, as if we’re all expecting to her to walk in at any moment, flash that huge, endearing grin, and say, “Look, I’m all right after all! It was all just a misunderstanding!” I actually smiled myself as I was typing that, because I can picture it so clearly. It’s really very weird to think that it’s never going to happen, that I will never see her or her smile again. But that is one of the sad truths of life and death, isn’t it? People are here and then they’re not, and we who stay behind are left with unfulfilled expectations… holes in our daily experience.