It often feels like yesterday.  But the thing is, when you do the math, it’s actually been 20 years.  20 years from the day that our lives changed forever.  20 years from when our parents were killed.  By a drunk driver.  On the lake that we’d spent the better part of our childhood.  20 years from when everything we knew, everything we counted on, everything we loved most…was gone in an instant.

The camping trips at state parks.  The winter ski vacations in northern Wisconsin.  The summer weekends on our boat.  With oldies music and tanning oil and Chicken in a Biskit crackers and Kool-Aid in plastic cups.  Raspberry picking in our family garden at my mom’s side.  Running in 5K races next to my dad.  The bonfires by the river with s’mores and campfire songs that my mom taught us.  The Halloween pranks that my dad pulled on the neighbor kids.  My basketball coach.  My gardening teacher.  The man who helped me with my math homework every night.  The woman who helped me make elaborate puppets out of brown bags, yarn, wiggle eyes, and craft glue.  Smiling faces.  Loving — and sometimes stern — voices.  Homemade caramel corn.  High-pitched laughter.  Bedtime back scratches.  Chocolate malts at the local ice cream shop to celebrate good report cards.  Our mom.  Our dad.  Gone.

Even though it often feels like yesterday, a lot has happened in those 20 years.  We went from kids — ages 16, 12, and 4 — to adults — 36, 32, and 24.  Chad owns a home, has earned a Master’s degree, and is tapping into a love of gardening.  Eric is a talented musician, a father to his beloved dog, Bourby, and now a brewer.  And somehow I’ve managed to break out of the shell of the shy little kid I once was and become more extroverted than I ever thought possible.  It hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve managed to get by.  Moving ahead, living our lives, finding our way.  Feeling happiness and sadness and everything in between.   

When they died, the loss was so huge, it felt like someone reached into my chest, ripped out my heart, and left me with a giant hole that would never go away.  And while a hole will probably always be there, the rest of me has been slowly filled with the realization that our mom and dad are not really gone.  They’re still with us.  A part of us.  The foundation they built for us, the values they instilled in us, the love they gave us, has steered us well.  It’s made us who we are today and who we will become. 

We don’t just have the memories from when they walked on this planet.  We have much more than that.  Their spirit is a part of Chad and Eric and me.  And we can see them in ourselves and in each other.  In everything we do and everywhere we go. They’re here. 

In Chad and Eric’s high-pitched laughter.  In the small frame of my body.  In Chad’s huge calf muscles.  In Eric’s gait when he walks.  In our tendency to quote funny lines from movies.  In the way we treat others with compassion.  In our ability to find humor in the strangest situations.  In our sarcastic quips.  And our creativity.  Our love for the outdoors.  And being on the water.  In the nicknames we give the people we know.  In our fascination with food.  And in our love for the underdog and going against the grain.  In our introversion.  And our extroversion.  In our eyes, in our smiles, and in our hearts.