My husband, Matthew Osborne, is gone.
I still expect him to walk through the door, any door, or walk down the stairs. I’m waiting for something that according to facts — something I typically thrive on and don’t work against me in this manner — is not going to happen.
We met at our first real job at the Lake City Reporter in Florida. He noticed me first, as he had already been working there for nine months before I was graduating and needed employment.
But that wasn’t the first time we could have possibly met. We learned later there were three times prior to that where we were at the same place at the same time — not an easy thing since he went to The George Washington University in D.C. and I went to Flagler College in St. Augustine, Fla. — and it was if we were meant to find each other.
I sat diagonally behind him. He was a sports reporter, I was news.
We quickly became friends. Then best friends. Then he realized he was in love with me, and since I was the sensible one in the moment, I rejected him at first.
Then 9/11 happened.
He had just moved apartments, and the cable guy was hooking up his television that morning. I was at work as the early reporter, and once our editor, David Brown, snapped me out of my shock of what I was seeing on the newsroom television, I was out at our local airport covering a plane that took off from Boston and was redirected to land there.
When Matthew came into work later, he said it was like Superman II when Clark Kent learns that Lois is at the Eiffel Tower.
“Well, jeepers, Mr. White. That’s terrible.” “That’s why they call them ‘terrorists,’ Kent.”
That day made me realize I should take up his offer, and that weekend we went on a date, in another county.
By the end of March, we were engaged. We got married the following year. A Superman pin was my something blue.
We worked well as a team together, and I even helped him transition to covering news.
We had different strengths and weaknesses, which helped us both manage our home and support each other in our work. He was editor of the Northeast Georgian, and I knew what they were working on because we’d bounce ideas off each other.
He never lost his love for covering sports, and was still often seen on the sidelines at high school football games. (He was there covering Habersham’s team when we won last year.)
He took care of me, and our last weekend together he drove me to local wineries where I needed to take photos for this week’s White County News. I asked him to come with me so we could spend the time together.
He was my Superman. It can’t be real that he’s gone.
Sam Sinclair is the editor of the White County News.