When I got over the initial shock of it all, all I could see were her dimples.

The Arens Girls of Crofton, the four of them are a package deal, are part of one of our state’s most accomplished athletic families. Beyond that the girls - Allison, Bridget, Monica and Alexis - are part of a lovely and respected family that includes brothers Trevor and Trent and their parents Gary and Joselyn. When you hear the name in these parts, you think of Crofton, and that’s a tribute to the family, and we’re talking about more than sports here. The Arens, they are Crofton.

It’s a tight-knit family that never wandered too far from home, even after the kids got married. Trent and his wife live way over in Verdigre (41 miles), Allison and her husband live way down in Pierce (45 miles), Monica and her husband live up in Yankton (15 miles), and Trent and his wife, and Alexis, they still live in Crofton. Like I said, close-knit.

That close knit family, their big church family and their small and interconnected community of 900 were rocked last week. Bridget died. Unexpectedly, at age 30.

I wasn’t able to completely comprehend the news when I first heard it. Bridget Arens, such a sweet young thing for being such a ferocious basketball player, she couldn’t be gone. I thought of that sweet smile of hers that lit up those world class dimples of hers. And then I thought of Taylor and the kids, the rest of The Arens Sisters, their brothers and family. She left behind four little ones, all of them her spitting image.

It cannot be. I know I am not the only one who thought that when they heard the news early last week.

Our daughter Jessie was a basketball player back in the day and for a decade or more she tagged along with me to state girls basketball, many times meeting some of our great players and having her picture taken with them. Bridget was one of those, in a most accommodating and kind way. She was that way.

Over the course of the few days that followed the horrifying news I had a couple of conversations with Jess about Bridget and The Arens Girls - she knew them all, at least from a distance - and also with my wife, Penni. They know how much my hobby has meant to me over the years, especially the relationships, no matter how brief, I had with the players that I have covered, especially that I have interviewed. Bridget was one of those, too, No. 2087. I looked it up.

Her passing touched me in a deep way I didn’t really expect - it’s not like I know-know her, but I knew her and loved her spirit - but it really hit me hard. Could very well be because my own little baller, my daughter Jessie, is getting married this Saturday. Her and Jess, they are the same age.

Bridget was in the back of my mind all week even into Friday morning when I had to make a decision on which playoff games to cover. There were options and the easy choice should have been to drop the globetrotting and head over to Boys Town, just 15-20 minutes away, to catch the Cozad game. It was going to be a fun matchup, very rare, and more importantly two of my own three sisters were going to be there, my niece too.

But that’s not what I did. I am admittedly fascinated by the chance to cover games in the corners of our state, always figuring that is a very Huskerland thing to do, and in the far northeast corner Wynot did host a game at 2 p.m. I’d noticed that before Bridget’s news. It took on a more powerful meaning when Crofton elected to start its Friday game at 5 p.m., just 18 miles over. If I drove to Wynot I could do my thing, then jump over to Crofton and find the Arens family before moving on. If I moved on. I had this vision of a house full of people sharing with the Arens that afternoon, and maybe I’d just stay to lend support.

In reality there was more than a house full of people sharing with the Arens family that afternoon into evening. Not knowing exactly where to go I drove downtown to the funeral home but nobody was there. There were a couple of nice ladies in the street visiting in that beautiful small town Nebraska way, and I approached them. Once there was a break in the conversation they asked if they could help, I asked where the Arens family lived. The one lady said she wasn’t sure about that but they were probably at the church, or would be soon.

For visitation.

Somehow in all the blur I completely overlooked the idea of visitation, not sure why. Either way, I went to the church and waited; I was two hours early. After visiting with a member of the funeral home staff I explained my situation about wanting to see the family and was told they’d be here soon. A short time later she approached me and said the family was gathering outside the church, you know, to enter as a close-knit family shouldering their collective grief together. I wasn’t sure what I would find or how awkward my approach might seem but outside I went.

I could hear the quiet murmur of conversation from around the corner of the church but held my ground by the front door. About that time a vehicle pulled up. It was Taylor. I gulped. All of sudden things had gotten very real.

To my relief Taylor made eye contact and came straight over to me, and we were able to share a supportive embrace, pretty sure that went both ways. After a brief visit he led me around the corner and introduced me to Mom and Dad, and I was grateful for that as a way to break the ice. I told them both of my deep caring for the family in general and The Arens Girls in particular, having interviewed all of them for Huskerland. Mom knew who I was, Dad wasn’t sure until she told him, “this is Huskerland Bob, he’s the one that took all the pictures of the girls.” Now I’m choking up, both then and now as this is being written. Small things really do matter.

After we made the corner there they were, the extended the family including two of The Arens Girls, Monica and Alexis. I was able to give them both a hug and asked if they remembered which one of the four had told me the story about dumping ice water on one of the others while they were in the shower, a most hysterical telling at the time. They weren’t sure but one of them promised me she’d had much worse happen to her at the hands of the other Arens Girls. We all got a little chuckle out of that.

Big sis Allison was the last to roll up and when we made eye contact she gave me a smile, the kind that strong big sisters give in a time when everybody needs a shoulder to lean on, even interlopers from afar. We were able to share out moment, I had my say to the rest of the family and then I left to cover a game. I am that way.

There was a much higher power calling me to Crofton the other night, I really believe that, and all I could think as I pulled out of the church parking lot is how happy I was that I listened.

Bridget, girl, you left an amazing legacy in so many ways, from your time on the court, to your work as a committed and compassionate elementary counselor at Crofton School, to your loving role as wife and mother, filling all those roles with great personal faith and strength. Bridget, you done good, loved those dimples, RIP.