One  year.  365  days.  So  much…  so  much,  so  much.       You  wake  up,  jump  out  of  bed  and  get  dressed.  We  have  two  hotel  rooms,  you  and   Abby  are  sharing  one,  me,  Mom  and  Reilly  in  another.  You  are  so  happy,  you  have   done   the   work,   and   you   are   ready   for   your   journey.   We   run   near   you   during   the   race,   capturing   video   and   photos.   You   are   clearly   experiencing   a   great   day,   your   smile   says   it   all.   You   are   tired   at   mile   9,   but   determined.   Mom   and   I   smile   as   we   know  the  feeling.  It’s  where  strength  in  life  begins.  Mile  9  in  life  is  hard,  but  you  keep   going  overcoming  your  weakness.  You  forge  past  all  of  your  demons,  unwilling  to  let   anything   deter   you   from   reaching   your   goal.   You   are   a   healthy,   beautiful   young   woman,  beginning  to  gain  confidence  in  achievement.       The   moment   is   clear.   The   memory   vivid,   it’s   as   if   it   happened   moments   ago.   You   fall   into  our  arms.  The  moment  escalates  quickly  from  concern  to  panic.  Doctors,  CPR,   blood,   ambulance,   ER.   The   sounds.   And   the   moment   I   realized   what   was   happening.   We   were   with   you   the   whole   time.   Holding   you,   kissing   you,   begging   you   to   stay.   Please  God  no.  I’ll  do  anything,  Please  God  no.       I   call   your   brother   Andrew…   I   tell   him   what   has   happened.   This   is   becoming   real.   Did   I   just   tell   someone   that   you   died?   Reilly   shows   up   at   the   hospital,   Andrew   arrives…  I  am  watching  a  movie,  partly  detached.       The   Emergency   Room   is   silent…   priest,   family,   doctors   huddled   around   you.   Whispering…   tears   are   flowing.   It   is   the   beginning   of   the   change.   Something   is   happening,   the   world   has   shaken.   There   are   only   few   moments   in   ones   life   where   the  shock  of  the  situation  evaporates  time  and  reality.  My  mind  and  body  are  not  the   same,  as  if  I  am  hovering  above  watching.       We  come  home.  Your  room  is  still  messy.  Your  food  dishes  still  scattered  around  the   house   as   if   you   will   be   home   any   minute.   Laundry   ready   to   be   cleaned…   you   have   homework  to  do.       I   have   little   memory   after   that.   Blurred   time.   Vapors.   Strange   conversations…   I   believe  you  carried  me,  and  I  know  we  had  communication  with  you.  People  were   everywhere  and  I  do  vividly  remember  the  shock  of  seeing  everyone  else  so  upset   and   wondering   why   everyone   was   so   sad…   was   I   missing   something?   Or,   has   my   mind   and   body   stopped   processing   momentarily,   protecting   me   from   the   forthcoming   days.   The   days   when   the   world   would   look   to   us   to   see   what   we   would   do.  How  would  we  respond?       Sometimes  people  would  ask  me  how  we  were  able  to  be  strong.  It  was  difficult  for   us   to   feel   like   we   were   being   strong,   as   we   felt   so   confused,   so   lost.   There   was   no   direction,  just  small  increments  of  time  moving  forward.  It’s  as  if  our  human  spirit   was  lifted  by  your  higher  power,  forced  into  action,  unwilling  to  fall  into  the  despair   that  death  can  bring.  I’m  certain  your  life  had  a  higher  purpose  from  the  beginning.  I   always  felt  like  we  would  work  together  in  unison,  with  vision.  It  surprised  me  that  

my  anguish  and  pain  came  so  slowly.  It  developed  after  we  produced  your  plan.  It   came  when  I  wasn’t  focused  on  your  legacy.  As  I  work  for  you,  you  work  for  me.  I   love  you.       My   pain   comes.   Our   pain   comes.   Mom   and   I   are   escorted   into   our   moment   of   awareness.   Much   later   then   your   family   and   friends   it   seems.   This   pain   is   unique,   there   is   no   oxygen.   All   other   pain   has   some   small   sliver   of   hope   that   things   may   change.   Even   in   terminal   disease   there   is   some   hope.   This   pain   has   no   hope,   and   therefore  it  has  power.    This  pain  changes  you  forever.  We  are  now  different  people,   scarred   and   calloused.   I   openly   ask   God   why   this   pain   is   necessary   on   earth.   How   could  evolution  allowed  this  to  exist?  For  what  value  is  a  mans  loss  of  a  child?       I  begin  to  see  the  world  differently.  Days  after  we  held  your  funeral,  I  found  myself   staring  at  sights  taking  them  in  for  moments.  Watching  Mitchell  and  wanting  time  to   stop.   I   would   purposefully   drive   Monument   Avenue   into   work,   even   though   it’s   a   longer  route.  I  was  fascinated  by  people’s  conversation,  never  before  had  I  cared  so   deeply   about   other   people,   about   their   interest.   Beauty   is   everywhere,   inspired   by   deep   pain.   We   are   more   aware   of   our   moments,   grateful   for   our   gifts.   I’m   not   a   perfect  person,  hardly  close,  but  I  am  better  now  then  I  was  before  I  lost  you.  You   are  my  guiding  light.       I  begin  to  see  what  you  have  done,  and  who  you  really  are.  Mom  and  I  immediately   change   our   lives,   focused   on   purpose   driven   behavior   and   love.   Taking   our   pain   and   using   at   fuel   to   ensure   that   your   life   matters.   We   focus   on   your   legacy,   your   foundation.  We  work  hard,  your  story  inspires  the  world.  Our  work  returns  results,   your  story  brings  goodness  to  people  who  need  it.  People  have  written  us  thousands   of   letters   sharing   with   us   your   impact   on   them.   I   find   people   all   over   the   country   have  followed  and  loved  you.  They  still  do,  they  have  changed  because  of  you.       We   are   so   focused   on   you,   that   we   don’t   see   what   is   really   happening…   YOU   have   given   to   us.   You   have   taken   our   pain   and   made   us   new   people.   You   have   given   me   a   gift,  your  sacrifice  is  not  lost.  My  pain  has  become  my  happiness,  truly  aware  of  my   gifts   in   life   and   my   cherished   moments.   In   many   ways,   I   walk   the   earth   a   happier   man  then  I  ever  was  before.  Happy  doesn’t  always  mean  joyous…  happiness  means   that  you  are  appreciative  and  aware.  Happiness  can  hold  pain.  I’m  learning  that  the   two  often  go  hand-­‐in-­‐hand.  Pain  delivers  perspective,  happiness  is  your  absorption   of  perspective.  Without  pain,  can  you  truly  be  happy?  How  can  there  be  love  if  you   weren’t  aware  of  loneliness?  Pain  is  the  birth  of  happiness.  I  begin  to  see  the  answer   to   life…   everything   is   perspective.   All   achievement   and   pride   is   sourced   from   the   very  nature  of  sacrifice.  All  goodness  is  seen  good,  because  it  is  compared  to  pain  or   hardship.  All  that  we  covet  is  secured  in  a  comparison  of  pain.  If  you  truly  begin  to   see  this  as  the  truth,  your  pain  can  become  your  source  of  life.       Time   is   meaningless   really.   It’s   not   one   circle,   but   a   straight   line.   We   don’t   repeat   time,  it  marches  forward.  So  why  does  one  year  have  meaning?  What  does  it  really   imply  other  then  a  365  revolutions  of  the  earth?  It  matters  very  little  to  me.  

  The  reason  it  matters  is  because  I  deal  with  guilt.  I  find  myself  at  laughing  at  parties.   I  coach  basketball,  train  for  Ironman,  even  went  to  Las  Vegas  with  the  boys.  I  wear   crazy   jackets,   go   to   fun   dinners   and   celebrate   charitable   events.   I   giggle   with   your   younger  siblings.  We  host  tailgates  at  UVA  for  Andrew.…  as  if  you  were  never  here.  I   find  myself  operating  without  the  consumed  feelings  of  grief.  Stop.  STOP.  I  want  to   be  back  in  the  deep  grief  because  if  I  move  away  from  grief,  then  have  I  moved  on   from   you?   Guilt   is   your   attachment   to   what   you   believe   you   should   be   doing.   I   believe   that   my   attachment   to   you   is   associated   with   my   grief,   and   therefore   if   I   enjoy  life  without  grief,  then  I  have  move  past  your  lost.    Sometimes  when  I  run,  I   even   listen   to   music   and   sing   along   like   I   used   too.   Or…   find   myself   day   dreaming   about  work.  Have  I  lost  you  forever?  Please  don’t  go  sweetheart,...  Please  God  no.       But  you  haven’t  left.  I’m  learning  that  you  are  more  present  then  ever,  I’m  now  your   voice,  you  are  mine,  we  are  together  forever,  because  of  what  you  have  truly  given   to  me.  Every  time  that  I  find  laughter,  I  know  see  that  its  source  is  different  then  it   was   before.     It   is   now   true   appreciation   for   happiness.   The   more   I   celebrate   and   absorb   perspective,   the   more   that   I   honor   your   sacrifice.   As   I   begin   to   enjoy   and   celebrate   again,   I   know   that   you   are   in   the   very   core   of   that   moment.   It   enlightening   to   realize   that   you   are   the   source   of   my   happiness   that   surfaces   from   the   pain   of   losing  you.       In   one   week,   we   return   to   the   site,   one   year   later,   365   meaningless   revolutions   of   the   earth,   four   seasons.   We   return   to   Virginia   Beach   with   over   200   of   your   fans   running   for   your   legacy,   honoring   your   life.   Each   is   changed,   each   is   marked   with   your  goodness.  Each  carries  your  message,  and  your  heart.  I  will  give  them  what  you   gave  to  me.  Happiness  through  pain,  and  that  may  guide  them  someday  when  their   pain   feels   burdensome.   Feels   hopeless.   They   will   see   their   pain   as   a   weapon   against   darkness.       The   dark   moments   come.   Sometimes   they   come   and   debilitate   me,   sometimes   so   much   that   I   am   rendered   to   my   bed.   I   have   learned   to   let   them   come,   have   their   place,  and  then  leave.  I  know  that  my  purpose  here  is  not  to  grieve.  My  purpose  is  to   live   a   happy   purposeful   life,   inspiring   my   family   to   do   the   same.   Others   will   follow   if   I   do   that.   But   those   dark   moments…   they   hurt,   hurt   so   bad.   But   they   then   fuel   the   next  cycle  of  happiness.  And  the  world  sees  your  plan,  your  legacy.  They  take  their   pain   and   use   it   as   their   benchmark   for   happiness.   You   have   taught   them,   allowed   them   to   see   that   their   darkness   can   be   the   very   source   out   of   their   pain.   I   am   so   proud  of  you.       I  know  you  are  somewhere.  My  faith  is  stronger  then  it  ever  was  before,  but  is  also   so  much  different.  Before,  my  faith  was  a  foundation  of  behavior.  It  was  a  guideline   of  ethics.  I  wasn’t  even  really  sure  why  or  if  I  believed.  But  again,  you  have  shown   me  the  light.  I  wonder  about  your  presence,  and  try  and  compare  it  to  human  living.   When   I   obsess   about   life   beyond,   I   find   myself   doubting.   Find   myself   wondering   what   after   life   is   without   the   physical   conditions   of   earth.   Without   hunger,   love,  

survival…   how   can   the   emotions   be   the   same?   Is   there   love   if   there   is   no   need   to   reproduce?  But,  then,  I  relax  and  just  visit  with  you  meditatively.  Realizing  that  my   answers  will  not  come  until  my  time  here  is  done.  Your  presence  is  clear  to  me  when   I  let  you  in.  And  then  I  hear  you,  and  we  talk.  It’s  a  simple  conversation  full  of  basic   thoughts,  meant  to  be  light  and  lifting.  More  than  anything  I  want  you  to  know  what   you’ve   done   for   this   world,   yet   you   don’t   respond   to   that.   That’s   not   important   to   you.  Something  else  is…  there  must  be  no  pride  in  the  after  life.       I   will   live   my   life   for   you,   honoring   my   pain.   And,   your   mom,   Andrew,   Reilly,   Sydney   and   Mitchell   will   know   a   happy   father   and   husband   because   you   gave   them   to   me.     I   will  fight  the  good  fight,  I  will  finish  the  race,  I  will  keep  the  faith  –  I  will  finish  this.