Tag Archives: amber

Giving Thanks

21 Nov

ThanksgivingOur lives, in both good and bad times, are very much a product of the influential people who surround us.

Today I’m acknowledging 10 such people in my life. (You might even be surprised by the last one.) I encourage you to do so, too, whether it’s by phone, handwritten letter, e-mail, or even a simple text. You’d be amazed how good it feels.

Life is too short not to appreciate the engineers who affect our ordinary existence, making it something rather extraordinary.

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Reach Out

18 Jun

Besides my sister Robin, there’s no one in the world I’ve been friends with longer than Amber. And yet, even I had no idea what to say to her when I found out her younger brother had died in a car crash.

Four years later, this Castle Heart project finally gave me the nerve to reach out beyond the surface sentiments commonly accepted in our society. I asked her about how she is feeling now and what she’d taken away from that fateful night. I offered her this blog as a platform to open up, share, and say anything left unsaid.

This is the result, and it’s a message that—heartbreakingly—needs to be heard.

Thank you, Amber. I’m honored not only that you went to the trouble, but also that you bared your soul so honestly, so imploringly. I can’t help but think there’s someone out there that needs to read this today. And if they do, you and your brother will make a life-changing difference in that person’s life. Know that. Take comfort in that.

If Amber’s story reaches out to you, please let her know in the comments below.

FROM AMBER:

I can see the episode play out before me as if I was a third party watching it unfold. It’s been engrained in my mind. It was a cold Sunday morning in February 2008. The phone rang. My heart started to race a little as I said hello for the third time; the silence on the other end was deafening.

Through the sobs, I was told disturbing news as I paced the bedroom floor. I remained strong on the outside, pushing awake panic for what seemed an eternity. When my parents hung up, it I felt like I was coming up for air after being submerged in water. I collapsed to my knees, trying to make sense of what I just heard.

Cory was gone. How could this be?

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