I find myself struggling to gather my thoughts, yet I feel an urgent need to articulate what’s swirling around in my mind today, even if it comes out jumbled and fragmented.

It has been three years since the world lost Winter, and each year feels heavier than the last. I initially wrote, “since I lost Winter,” but that phrasing feels woefully inadequate to encapsulate the depth of our loss. As my daughter, she represented so much more to me than just my personal grief; she was a vibrant spirit, a cherished individual who touched the lives of many. There were countless dimensions of her personality that I could never fully grasp. Even if I reached out to her friends, her colleagues, and the people she dated, I know I would still only skim the surface of who she truly was. She would have turned 30 this year, and the ache in my heart grows each day as I envision the milestones we’ll never celebrate together—her birthday, her dreams, the laughter we should still be sharing.

The fog in my mind feels utterly suffocating, a shroud that dulls everything around me, yet it pales in comparison to the emotional chaos seething within my heart. I am looking forward to the upcoming season of running with the crew I’ve joined here in Ohio. There’s a certain comfort in the routine, a fleeting moment of joy that reminds me of resilience. Still, the distance from Peggy weighs heavily on me, amplifying my loneliness as I yearn for connection. I often find myself on the brink of tears, caught in this emotional whirlwind that feels almost unbearable—the happiness of running coupled with the profound sadness of losing Winter. It’s a storm of feelings, each one colliding violently with the next, leaving me disoriented and aching.

From November until January 4, my running routine takes a break, and I find myself looking forward to the end of that period. The lack of connection during this time might be a reason I feel a bit raw. Tomorrow morning, I will participate in a 5K race, an event that has evolved into a bittersweet tradition since Winter’s passing. I didn’t intentionally create this ritual; it developed naturally as a way for me to cope with the grief that surrounds me. Running has become a form of meditation, therapy, and joy, allowing me to navigate my grief without being overwhelmed by it. I’ve enjoyed the experience and have made friends along the way, so it’s not just a therapeutic endeavor; however, some days, that’s all it feels like.

As many of you know, Winter was taken from us in the early hours of January 1, 2022. She was killed in a tragic accident, driving home from a bar, when a vehicle struck her head-on. The driver responsible was someone who had also been out drinking, recklessly navigating the same roads that Winter traveled. The senselessness of it all continues to haunt me, a constant reminder of how fragile life can be.

Please, as you head out tonight, take care of yourselves and those around you. Life is precious, and it’s fleeting—cherish every moment, for you never know when it could all change in an instant.