One week ago on Wednesday evening.

It was July the 29th.

On a day the sun burned hot enough to melt the heart of every cold-blooded, icy-veined, cruel god that ever schemed to wreck the world.

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When summer was deep into the days of joy.

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This does not make any sense.

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Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

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On Thursday morning, last week.

I did not answer calls from my sister.

I typed, instead, a what’s up is everything okay? text message to her. I was on a Habitat for Humanity job site—installing gardens, unloading heavy bags of mulch, plants, tools. Coaching volunteers.

I did not hit the send button for the what’s up text before I noticed my sister calling again.

Something is up. I took the call.

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I’m going to try to write about this.

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Here’s a texted image I got from my son a few days before my sister’s call last week:

He saw it somewhere in New York City and sent it to me. It’s the last line from the poem, The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver, which is wood burned into our bathroom door. Whenever my son or his sister or his dad or anyone else, uses the small bathroom on our first floor, (so small that I painted it to look like an outhouse), they are confronted with the poem.

It took me a long time to wood burn that poem into the door.

Sorta, kinda, goofy, girlie mom art.

I love being a mom more than I ever thought I could love being a mom mom art.

I love being married and devoted to my family mom art.

Let’s love and live like there’s no tomorrow mom art.

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On Thursday morning, last week—A DAY THE MERCILESS SUN BURNED HOT ENOUGH TO MELT THE HEART OF EVERY STONE-COLD-CRUEL GOD THAT EVER WRECKED THE WORLD—my sister called to tell me that her friend, Joe Trustey, and his daughter, Anna, had been killed in a fiery plane crash. They were traveling together to look at colleges.

Less than a year ago, the family had buried their only son and brother, AJ.

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Last winter, my sister and her husband and a group of friends had flown on the Trustey’s private jet to their house in Utah for a ski weekend. The group has shared a special bond ever since they attended Harvard Business School together a long time ago.

As the years went by, I ran into this group of friends at gatherings at my sister’s house. Small talk kept me updated about each family’s milestones, challenges, and accomplishments. They’re a lively bunch, defined by hard work, unlimited ambition, and upbeat dreams. They are, like many of us, blessed with bright spirits.

Undoubtedly, the biggest personality in the group was Joe Trustey, the man killed with his daughter, Anna, when his plane went down one week ago, on Wednesday.

Tributes to his life and his daughter’s promising future abound on the Internet.

How is it that one man accomplished so much in his life? I think for Joe Trustey, much of the answer had to do with his remarkable religious faith—he and his entire family were devout Catholics. He extended the powers of faith into his own being and had a strong faith in himself. He believed God had blessed him and, with God as his strength, he never let fear disrupt his aspirations.

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Today Joe Trustey and his daughter Anna will be buried. If all they believed about God is true, then they have joined their son and brother, AJ, in a better place.

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More than twenty years ago, my husband and I showed up at my sister’s house to celebrate a baptism for her firstborn daughter. I had been asked to be my neice’s godmother. The grand day arrived only a few weeks after our second son had been stillborn, full term. My husband and I must have been transported to that party on the wings of angels, because in those days, we could not find our way anywhere, nor could we remember how to speak or how to appear happy.

I recall how we dreaded that party because we knew the gathering would include my sister’s Harvard Business School friends. I didn’t know how I would make it through the day. I was self-conscious of the fact that others would prefer to avoid us because our baby had died and worse than that were my conflicted fears about my own emotions of envy for the young families I knew would be in attendance—all of them with wonderful futures before them. I hated the feelings of bitterness that might exhaust me on a day of joy for my sister, her husband, and my precious niece.

The morning before the baptism, I remember helping my husband get dressed.

And thinking how lonely it is for a man to lose a newborn.

Joe Trustey was the one man at the party that day who bravely and kindly entered into the private world of our grief. He greeted my husband with generous friendship. He did not turn away; he did not pretend all was well. He simply spoke from his heart and expressed his sincere sympathy for what had happened to us. “I am so sorry to hear about your loss…” He said.

And he spoke of our son by his name. He remembered our son’s name.

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We think of Joe Trustey as quite the high achiever. We hear tales of his great humor and endless acts of philanthropy. Long before his own life turned dark when his firstborn son, AJ, died less than a year ago, he felt a calling to care about others. Joe honored his Catholic faith by being brave, and kind, and generous.

Today will be excruciating for the Trustey’s and all of their family and friends. I am so sorry they have all lost their beloved Joe and Anna.

From The Book of Revelation, King James Bible, 14:13—

And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works so follow them.

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Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

In the spirit of Joe Trustey, and his beautiful daughter, may your great good works—the big ones and the small ones—follow and nurture you all the days of your life,

and may they live on to inspire others, from far beyond the grave, when your life on Earth is ended.