Anthony Shadid was only 43 and yet, he was one of those reporters who seems to have been around forever. He was a year younger than me, but was so much older and wiser.  

I met Anthony once; maybe twice.  At the time I was working for another public radio program in Boston. Anthony was at the Boston Globe and later the Washington Post. I spoke with him on the phone perhaps a half dozen times asking if he’d be on the program. I don’t remember him ever saying no.  No matter what deadline pressure he was under, he always took the time. He was always patient, kind and nothing seemed to rattle him.

I’m thinking back to all the journalists I’ve had brief phone conversations with; those who have died since 2001. They all reported from the Middle East, while I’ve been safely ensconced in Boston newsrooms. I’m thinking today of Elizabeth Neuffer, Michael Kelly and Daniel Pearl. And now Anthony Shadid.
    
I’m wondering why his death has hit me so hard.  
Maybe it’s because we’re journalists of the same generation.
Maybe it’s because journalists like Anthony are getting harder and harder to find.

A colleague of Anthony’s carried his body out of Syria.
That’s what good journalists do.
They carry one other, protect and respect one other.
Few professions share a similar work ethic.
It’s one of the things I love about my work and it’s one of the things I loved about Anthony.
He will be missed.
The load all journalists carry has just gotten heavier.