Today’s email is going to be bit different than what most of you are used to. I know you probably didn’t sign up expecting to see content like this, but if you continue reading, I hope that it allows you to appreciate how fragile and precious life is. I try to write each week to concisely provide as much value to you and my readers as possible. I will say that this week is perhaps for me as well . . .

The week started with a lot of anticipation, excitement and preparation as I left for Nashville Sunday to begin a multi-day property tour of our new mobile home park portfolio. My older son started school last week and my younger son was headed off to his first week of school, which begins with a week at camp (pretty cool, huh?).

I woke up Tuesday looking forward to wrapping up the last couple property tours and excited to get home to see my wife. We even had a “date day” planned on Thursday since we have not had much time to ourselves without the boys after both an active and travel-filled summer. I left a mobile home park near Crossville, TN and took a call from my friend and partner, Bryce. As we talked about the status of the parks (he was touring two others) and our business plan to move forward I headed towards home.

Shortly thereafter I received a call and text from my sister Erin’s, husband. “Please call me. I think Erin has been in an accident and I can’t get ahold of her.” I called him back, but he didn’t answer. He then called me and told me that she’d been in a car accident and air lifted to Roanoke Memorial Hospital, near her destination in Blacksburg, VA.

I pulled into the next rest area, hands shaking and called my aunt, who lives less than an hour from Roanoke. Finally she picked up and I explained the situation. She headed toward the hospital as I called my sister’s friend that she was traveling to see (who I also know) to share the news. He was wonderIMG where she was and offered to head to the hospital as well.

I tried my best not to speed home and called my wife and asked her to prepare to leave. Having spent nearly 2 decades in hospitals and ORs I know enough to understand when a situation is grave. I got home, unpacked/repacked and we made plans to have friends take our dog and watch our home, not knowing how long we might need to be with my sister. My assistant cleared my schedule for the week. Little did I know the trip would be shorter than planned.

We arrived Tuesday evening as my sister’s physical condition took a turn for the worse. The staff were able to stabilize her, but the doctor came out and shared the news. She had been in a horrific car accident. Her truck had rolled several times, ejecting her from the vehicle. She died on the scene. While they were able to revive her physical body and transport her to the hospital, she was no longer with us.

Her husband, his father, my wife and I sat with my sister as the staff kept her comfortable so that we could say goodbye. I called my family so they could tell her goodbye. Then, the calls stopped, the tubes came out and the machines went silent as we prayed and held her. She officially passed away at 2:45AM Wednesday. Shattered and exhausted, we slept for a few hours before driving home.

The past few days have been exceedingly difficult. I lost my father shortly after my 5th birthday. My best friend died after a massive brain hemhorage when I was 19. This experience changed me forever. My mother died at the end of 2011. Another dear friend died last March when he was only 29. I thought that was hard . . .

My sister, Erin Elizabeth Larsen, was the last remaining member of my direct family. For those of you that have lost close friends or family, you know  what my family and I are going through. Please pray for us, or share your thoughts and support however you connect with God or the universe.

I’ve come a long way with my faith over my lifetime and will share that I know deep in my soul that God, the universe, has a plan and this is part of it. However it seems so cruel at this very moment. One way I escape is to ride my bike. Not just ride, but ride in nature. Hard.

Thursday, after a particularly difficult morning I forced myself to ride. I told a friend right before I left that I was going to ride “to be alone and talk to my sister”. I rode, I cried, I pounded on the pedals up a long climb through the trees until my physical pain overtook my emotional pain. It’s one of the reasons I think I love to ride; in those moments where life is difficult, you can push yourself so much that nothing exists besides you and the pain. Being on a bike, you need to concentrate on your effort, breathing, the road or trail. When you are at your limit, it takes so much concentration that life’s troubles seem to disappear for a little while. Your intruding thoughts disappear and your mind becomes clear.

Last week, a close friend and I shared an evening together talking. We took a sauna, a cold plunge and sat by my fire pit afterward sharing a drink. He faced a difficult period recently and we shared how we both gravitated towards cycling during our lives. He said, “Endurance athletes are either running toward something or away from it.” There are a lot of people out there that are able to push themselves far beyond what most people are capable of. I can tell you that when you’ve faced some of the emotional pain that I have, the physical pain not only pales in comparison, but you actually welcome it when it comes so that you can escape, if only briefly. Others turn to drugs or alcohol. I certainly can understand that. It’s comforting at times, but it’s a vicious, ugly cycle. I prefer to drive my body to its limit.

As I hit the top of the climb on Thursday, I pulled my bike over and sat on a large bolder looking out over the valley of Asheville. I sent a couple messages to friends that were concerned to let them know I was taking care of myself the best way I knew how. In that moment I prayed for a sign that my sister was safe. That she was with my parents and that they were still with me, watching over me. I had to know. I said, “Please show me a momma bear with one cub.” My sister would call herself “Momma Bear”, but I saw my mother’s energy whenever I would see a momma bear. To me, my sister was my mom’s cub. I asked to see this very specific sign.

I feel like you’re not supposed to be so direct with God. Who am I to demand such a sign? However, I was at a point where I really needed some reassurance. Did I expect to get it? Truthfully, I did not, but I could begin to feel the presence of my family as I sat in silence, in nature. The pain had washed away the worst of my emotions.

I descended the mountain and turned onto a stretch of road that tilts up slightly so that your speed slows. There were no cars, only nature, the mountains and a slight breeze. As my speed slowed to the point that I could hear above the wind again, I saw movement in front of me; a large black bear strode out into the road from my left. I pulled over slowly to the right side of the road and stopped, putting a foot down. I took my glasses off. The bear ambled into the road as a single cub popped up out of the woods behind her. My heart skipped a beat. As the mother climbed the bank in front of me, the little cub began to follow her, stopped, stood up on its two hind legs and looked directly into my eyes. An immediate peace came over me. The mother than looked at me and at the cub, if as to say, “It’s time.” I nodded, smiled and watched as it followed its mom into the woods.

 

I started to pedal again and began to cry; I pulled into an overlook, got back off my bike, sat in the grass and looked at the beautiful mountains in front of me to regain my composure and thank God for showing me what I so desperately needed. I was alone, but a truck pulled in and 3 jovial friends, 2 men and a young woman, got out and were trying to figure out who was going to take a picture with the girl’s phone. I asked if they wanted me to. Afterward, the young women asked if I wanted my picture taken. I quietly smiled and told her, “No thank you. I already got everything I needed today.” She tilted her head, understandably a bit puzzled, shrugged and walked away, happily, with her friends. I got back on my bike and pedaled home. My wife asked how my ride was . . . “Perfect.” I replied.

As I stated when I began, I want this story to serve as a reminder about how fragile and precious life is. Make time for the things that truly matter; family, friends, time with those that you love. Being in nature. Find a way that works for you to communicate with God, the Universe. Everything else is just boxes to check along the way. Those are actually the easy things in life. Connections are what truly matter. But they are also the hardest. The hardest to nurture and the hardest to lose. The past couple of years have not been the best between my sister and I. I sincerely regret not having more time with her. She was an amazing person. She was and is loved. She touched so many souls around the world as she traveled, practicing and teaching yoga and body work. She was a bit of a “gypsy soul”. Her spirit will live on inside each of those that she touched.

You can read a bit more about her here: Erin Elizabeth Larsen Obituary

I love you and miss you Erin as your gypsy soul floats “Into the Mystic” . . .