I’ll never forget the phone call I received from my dad that day. It rings in my mind as one of my most vivid memories.

“You need to call me. If you can’t get a hold of me, you need to continue to call me.”

His urgency in conversation was never without warrant, so I knew something was truly wrong.

A few hours later, I got the news. My brother had died.

He had crashed his motorcycle. A vehicle pulled out in front of him while making a left turn and failed to yield to oncoming traffic. He high-sided, and his neck broke as he landed on the asphalt.

I spent the majority of the next two days in bed, periodically shuffling between my bedroom and the kitchen to grab a something to eat. For that time, I was kind of just existing.

After two weeks, I made the decision to go back to work. At the time I was working for a Fire Department in the capacity of an ambulance driver, so I would inevitably be encountering death and dying again relatively soon. It’s something I had to come to terms with if I were to continue on my career path.

I had two Captains tell me things that still resonate. 

The first had offered his apologies, to which I responded, “It’s okay.” His response to me was, “No, it’s not okay.”

That, to me, meant the world. That awkward conversation between two individuals, one of whom is going through some shit, and the other who is expressing their apology…it’s never easy. But in that moment, I’d realized I didn’t need to be apologetic and make the one consoling me feel better about the personal shitstorm I was living.

It’s okay not to be okay, and to accept things at face value instead of sugarcoating them.

The second was the Captain I had worked under. He called me into his office to ask how I was doing, and I was honest with him. He then said something to me that I will always remember.

“Dealing with grief is like the ocean. Some days it’s calm and serene, and other days the waves are beating at your feet.”

He was right. You can’t expect yourself to suddenly be okay one day. In fact, you can’t expect yourself to ever be completely okay. This is a situation that forever affects you. And the sooner you understand that; the sooner you learn to cope with the undulations it brings.

After a while, I realized something had changed in me. It wasn’t a noticeable change in sadness or sorrow, and it wasn’t a change in how I looked at the world, fair or unfair. It was a change in the sense that I realized I was short-changing myself in my own life.

Jason taught me his most important lesson after he had died. He taught me that you don’t need anybody’s permission to do what you want to do, go where you want to go, or pursue anything you want to pursue. 

He lived his life as if tomorrow wasn’t promised. He always said yes to the trip, bought the fun car, and pushed the limits of what the human body was capable of.

And for that example, I am forever grateful.

This one may be difficult, but I want you to reflect on a loss you have had in your life. It doesn’t have to be as extreme as a life loss, but something that has significantly affected you.

Now dig deep, and ask what positive things came from that loss. It’s difficult to see in the moment, but revisiting it later can be more powerful than you think.