Twenty-Eight Years Later

Twenty-Eight Years Later

On February 7, 1998, I was rushed to the hospital unconscious with bacterial meningitis. My parents were told I was unlikely to survive.

Exactly twenty-eight years later, on February 7, 2026, I stood in a room at the Omni PGA Frisco Resort & Spa surrounded by more than 80 family members, friends, and supporters celebrating the launch of my book, Destiny Is Debatable.

Weeks later, I'm still not sure I can adequately explain what that felt like.

The evening was everything I could have hoped for. We visited, told stories, signed books, took pictures, and held a Q&A about the book and the long road that led to it.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, we learned that Destiny Is Debatable had reached #1 on two Amazon bestseller lists.

That was incredible.

It also wasn't the best part of the night.

The best part came from a question.

My friend Heather Entenmann had read an advance copy of the book, and during the Q&A, she asked a poignant question about something I had written.

The first anniversary of my meningitis had been remarkably quiet. I was back at college, sitting alone in my apartment, reflecting on what had happened exactly one year earlier.

Heather reminded me of that moment and then asked, essentially:

What do you think about the 28th anniversary?

I didn't have an answer prepared.

So I looked out.

More than 80 people were gathered in front of me. Family. Friends. People who had been part of different chapters of my life. People who had encouraged me through the writing process. People who had helped me get from February 7, 1998, to February 7, 2026.

My wife, Erin, and our girls were sitting right there in the front row.

And suddenly, answering Heather's question became a lot harder than I expected.

I could feel myself getting emotional.

Twenty-seven years earlier, I had marked that anniversary mostly by myself.

Now I was looking at a room filled with people who had become part of everything that happened afterward.

I searched for something profound to say.

Apparently, after writing an entire book, I was down to one word.

"Tremendous."

And it was.

The book hitting #1 was exciting. Seeing my name on a bestseller list was something I never imagined when I first started talking about writing this story years ago.

But rankings change.

That room is what I'll remember.

I'll remember Erin and our girls in the front row. I'll remember signing books for people who had lived parts of the story with me. I'll remember conversations with friends and family who had encouraged me long before there was a finished manuscript to celebrate.

And I'll remember looking out at all those people after Heather asked that question.

February 7 will always be the day meningitis changed my life.

For years, that date represented everything I lost and everything I had to rebuild.

Twenty-eight years later, it gave me something else to remember.

A room full of people.

A finished book.

My family in the front row.

And one tremendous moment when I realized:

I actually did it.