You're driving in your car. Listening to music, oblivious to the world around you. You are traveling from where you left, to where you are going. That's the plan.

You're comfortable. You've been headed in this direction for a long time.

But then, there is a flash of lightning.

Rain begins to hit the windshield. Headlights are on all around you.

Then, it happens. You hit a puddle on the road, and you feel the car break loose.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You feel weightless. Your body starts to slide, your weight shifts to the way the car now seems to be floating.

Almost in slow motion, you grab the wheel in terror.

All of a sudden the destination takes a back seat to simply surviving the current situation.

This is a great analogy of my last 8 months here on planet earth.

Even though all of the drivers on my metaphorical road could see the clouds coming on the horizon, none of them, could prepare fully for when the car breaks loose.

The car drifts left. I feel my weight floating to the side. I'm standing in a room looking down at the body of my brother. As I stand there looking down, I realize that this is a very familiar angle for me. One I had seen hundreds of times. All of a sudden I am 7 years old again, leaning off the top bunk, looking down at my brother. It is a painful full circle moment.

The car drifts right. again I feel my weight shifting. I am becoming distant from my wife and kids. All of the wind in my sails is gone. All forward momentum stopped. Can't focus in college. Close friendships strained. People you thought would never hurt or mislead you do so. I am beginning to loose faith in humanity.

The car drifts left again, I am standing in the back of a chapel at a funeral home. My young nephew Nathan, third youngest of my late brother's children spots me from way up front. He grabs his sister Allison, my brother's youngest child, and they run down the aisle and give me a huge hug that nearly knocks me from my kneeling position. I felt so much joy in this moment. Such overwhelming comfort. But this can't be right, I am here to comfort them. We are at the wake of their Mother Heather, my brothers wife, who suddenly passed away. The kids seem mostly unfazed. Their resilience still shocks me.

The truth is, I am still waiting for the wheels to catch their grip. I am beginning to wonder if this is ever going to happen.

I don't know if this is helpful to anyone out there. I sometimes don't know if perhaps I am loosing my mind. But what I do know, is that even when the world feels like it has fallen off it's axis, and is spinning out of control into outer space, you have to keep moving forward. One step, moment, or day at a time.

In the favorite closing word of the best CEO I ever worked under,

Onward,

Steve