Uncertainty & Grief
In the summer of 1996, on a pleasant Friday morning, Abraham Zachary made his usual stroll through a small town east of San Jose, California. Like clockwork, he followed his daily ritual—grabbing a copy of the Oakland Tribune from Adrian, the friendly newspaper vendor, sharing a few words, then heading down a few blocks to his favorite coffee shop. From there, coffee in hand, he’d walk to the city plaza where his office was located—a routine he had faithfully kept every weekday since moving from San Francisco seven years prior.
That Friday felt like any other. Zach—as his German neighbor fondly called him—went through the motions: a short chat with Adrian, a cup of coffee from the shop, then continued on his path to work. But in a single moment, everything changed. As he stepped out of the coffee shop, a speeding vehicle—driven by someone who had fallen asleep at the wheel while drunk—careened out of control and struck him. The impact was devastating. To save his life, doctors had no choice but to amputate both of Zachary’s legs.
Zachary’s story is a stark reminder of how life can change in an instant. Sometimes, despite doing everything “right,” we find ourselves suffering the consequences of someone else’s poor decisions. There’s so much in life we can’t control. That’s why I’ve stopped saying “it could never be me.” The truth is, none of us are exempt from life’s unpredictable turns. When you take a moment to really think about it, it’s unsettling. I once read that the only sure thing in life is death—none of us are leaving this world alive.
At some point, we’ve all been blindsided—by disappointments, losses, or betrayals. Grief shows up in many forms, whether it’s a plan falling apart or a person we love slipping away. And when grief arrives, it changes us. For Zachary, surviving such a traumatic experience gave him a deep understanding of what it feels like to be alone and afraid at the edge of life. Rather than remain confined by his circumstances, he chose to be a source of light for others in their darkest hours. In his wheelchair, guitar in hand, he’d visit the cancer ward to sing and play joyful songs. Every Christmas, he’d dress as Santa Claus and visit terminally ill children, bringing smiles and warmth. He became known as “Santa Claus on Wheels”—a man who turned personal tragedy into a mission of compassion.
Pain is part of being human. Sadly, it never really gets easier. I know this firsthand—I lost my eldest sister to sickle cell anemia in 2008 and my mother to cancer in 2018. Grief is a heavy weight. It changes the landscape of your world, sometimes overnight. People cope in different ways—some with therapy, some through denial, others by seeking comfort in substances. There’s no one-size-fits-all path through it.
Life doesn’t come with a guidebook for grief. But what we do have is a choice in how we respond. Like Zachary, we can turn our pain into purpose. We can choose to use our experiences to help others, to bring meaning out of heartbreak, to find strength in adversity.
Because the truth is, it doesn’t get easier.
We just get stronger.