Four years since I got the news you were passing. Four years since mom called me while I was on my way home from class. My heart broke. I tried to be strong. I couldn't even make it back to my townhouse. My feet couldn't carry me. The crutches weren't holding me up very well. I would have been out there for hours. Just sobbing. But I made it back. A friend lifted me up and carried me home. But when I got there, I just lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My roommates had to call my mother to figure out what was wrong with me. They were terrified.

And then they pushed me. "Call him, CJ. This may be your last chance. Find someone who can put you in contact with him. You'll never forgive yourself."

I called Uncle Jeff. I begged for the number in your hospital room. When he told me that you couldn't speak, so they didn't put one in your room, everything shattered.

I didn't get to say goodbye to you. I didn't get to hear your voice one last time. I didn't get to personally tell you what you meant to me. That you were my hero. And for two years, I was afraid to ask Uncle Jeff if my message had been passed on. I wanted to believe he made it in time. And it would have destroyed me if I learned he hadn't.

Last year, on the anniversary, I was with mom. She told me that you'd gotten the message. That you'd passed on knowing what a role you had played in my life. I cried. Everything was alright because you knew. You knew that everything I am today is because of you.

Tomorrow, when I wake, I'll think of you again. I'll remember that second phone call. I'll remember my roommates holding me as I sobbed and screamed. But most of all, I'll remember that you finally weren't in pain any more.

Uncle Donny. It's been four years. You think the pain would go away. But I don't think it ever will. I don't think it will ever lessen, either.

I want you to know. When I graduated college, I had a picture of my grandmother on my cap. Mom cried. And when I flipped it over and showed her the only picture I had of you inside the cap, she just held me.

You should have been there. Sitting next to her and screaming my name. I wanted to shake your hand. To thank you for everything. But you were still there.

I'm not a religious person, Uncle Donny. I all but gave up my faith years ago. But I know you were there. You walked onto that stage with me. You saw the pride in my mothers eyes.

I made it. I'm doing well with my life. And it's because you were willing to let go of the love you felt for my mother and help us escape. I would have been proud to call you my father.

Thank you for everything. Thank you for helping me become who I am. I love you, Uncle Donny. And I miss you so terribly.