This morning I learned that Chip Reese had died in his sleep last night. As I began to compile a post for PokerNews, I had a kind of odd feeling. It’s not that I knew Chip (pictured at the 2007 WSOP) well at all; a nod in the hallway, a smile at the table. I had tremendous respect for his game and reveled in his 2006 WSOP HORSE bracelet.

But as I wrote, I couldn’t shake a nagging sort of feeling. And then I realized that the laptop I was using still housed many of the pictures I had taken of Chip. I’m sure I took pictures in my youth on my Brownie Instamic of people who later died, but there was something unsettling about having Chip’s pictures in the machine that was expelling its incessant hot breath beneath my hands.

I had the same feeling years ago when I learned that an old boyfriend had died suddenly in an airport during a business trip. I hadn’t spoken to him for many, many years. But there’s something very disquieting about learning that someone you slept with no longer resided on the planet. I don’t mean to equate the act of taking a picture with a more intimate encounter, but in a sense both capture a moment. When they’re gone, you’re the holder of that moment.

And I guess I also reflected on just how frail my moment was, compared to Chip’s family and friends – to those that played with him in the Big Game over the years; exchanging chips and stories – and moments. My condolences to all. I’m heading back to Vegas on Saturday and will surely spend some time at the Bellagio. I wonder how many people walking by Bobby’s Room will feel, as I will, that something is missing.

Please stop by Barry Greenstein’s site and listen to his reflections on Chip.

Of course I’ll also be hooking up with the bloggers soon, for our semi-annual quest to create more moments. And maybe this is a good place to insert some that we’ve already had. I’ll try to post some more over the next few days.