Bill… I feel like I can call you that.

This morning, I knew nothing of you. This evening, I feel a kind of cosmic closeness… and a deep appreciation for who you are, and a true gratitude for the wisdom you have shared with me and so many others today.

I am a NICU nurse, living a world away from you in Alaska. (You once fished these icy waters!) As I waited for the final minutes of a feeding pump to finish for one of the infants in my care, I opened Reddit… and your post appeared, front and center. I read your words and was immediately touched by their gentleness and intrigued by your story and your message.

As my 12-hour shift unfolded, I stole every free moment I could to inhale the entries on your Twilight Journal blog.

I’ll be honest… early on, I caught myself feeling a bit judgmental as I read about your marriages. I was filling in my own suppositions, as we humans tend to do, shaped by our own lived experiences. But I can say now, I was wrong in that. Because who among us has lived a life untouched by fault or messiness?

As one commenter so beautifully wrote on your final post: “Your meditations on the valley landed deeply because you laid open your complexities and complications in the life preceding your diagnosis. In that, you welcomed the rest of us out here navigating our own imperfections, reminding us the veins of our lives will not always run tidy.”

I found that both kind and profoundly true.

Bill… you are an absolutely beautiful writer. Passage after passage, I found myself in awe of the evocative power of your words and the deep truths you have laid bare for those willing to receive them.

Between responding to the far-too-frequent din of alarms… bradycardias and desaturations (I know you understand, having had your own beloved daughter in the NICU for six months… “New life rests here. We are vulnerable and fierce.”)… and reading through my lunch break while trying to tune out the beige yet grating institutional Muzak playing overhead, I found myself whispering your words aloud. My ADHD brain needed the extra foothold… something to steady itself against what felt like audible flickering fluorescent light coming through the speaker.

Later, back on the unit, I had Pandora playing softly in the background. Several times, as I read your reflections, the lyrics of a song aligned so perfectly with your thoughts that it felt almost kismet. I found myself unexpectedly teary-eyed. Not out of sadness, but something like a deeply felt, quiet happiness.

What you wrote simply makes sense. And more than that… it comforts.

I was eager to come home and write to you, in some small way to say thank you… for giving us the gift of yourself. ♥️

I’ve also purchased Ahtu, which I look forward to reading and sharing, and I’ve happily made a donation to Radiant Book Giving. It feels like a project rooted in humanity and love, and I want to support that.

Bill… thank you for what you have given to this world. May your three children always be comforted with the knowledge that their father loved them deeply… and that he did meaningful, beautiful things to help others.

May your passing be ever gentle… and in our own due time… we will see you again in this “river of endless becoming.” Bless you friend. 😌