The day you died started like any other day.
It was a sunny Sunday morning in October. The crisp fall air flowed through the open window.
I woke up around 7am. I had just returned from LinkedIn’s Talent Connect Conference – it had been one of the highlights of my professional career to keynote and emcee the livestream.
I was brewing coffee as I usually do on the weekend. I was excited to spend a lazy day with my wife and our daughter. We were about to make pancakes. The phone rang. It was your son’s mother.
“You need to call Martin County Hospital. Kai was admitted last night. No one can reach him, and they will only speak with his family.”
Today would have been your 46th birthday. It’s been eight months since you left us. Some days it feels like it was just yesterday, others feel like you’ve been gone for years.
You’ve missed so much during that short time. Your son turned 16 and is becoming an incredible young man that would fill you with pride. He’s kind, considerate, thoughtful, and smart. You did a tremendous job raising him, showing him the love and support Dad showed us. I have no doubt he’ll blossom into an incredible person thanks to that.
He misses you. We all do.
You’ll be excited to know you’re an Uncle again! Maya joined our family two months ago. She’s gorgeous, happy, and healthy — just like her big sister Eve. Dad would have spoiled them rotten, like Opi spoiled us.
It hurts they’ll never know your warm embrace, your deep belly laugh, or the undeniable kindness you were known for. I’ll make sure they see lots of pictures, and the stories are passed down to them.