I’ve been meaning to write this letter for over a year now, but words still feel small compared to what I want to say. When I think back to my time in the ICU, the memories are a blur of machines, tubes, veins with no blood, exhaustion, disappointment, self-loathing, and fear — but what stands out crystal clear is you.

You didn’t just take care of me medically; you saw me. You met me where I was — broken, ashamed, convinced I didn’t deserve another chance — and you reminded me that my life still had meaning. I’ll never forget that night when you pulled up a chair beside my bed and talked with me for hours. You listened without judgment, shared your quiet strength, and somehow helped me start to see beyond the pain and shame. Those conversations lit a spark I thought I’d lost — a sense of purpose, a reminder of my responsibilities to my family that I love dearly, and the belief that my existence still had merit.

You helped me believe that I wasn’t just surviving but could live again and rise. That simple act of kindness, those moments of human connection in the middle of all that chaos, your prompt return to my room after being summoned to other patients, made more difference than you could ever realize.

I now carry that with me every day as fuel to drive my life focused on purpose. I am in full recovery (drinking is beyond an afterthought) and have accomplished more in the last year than in any other period of my life. My professional life is restored and thriving, family and personal relationships healed, healthier than I have been in decades, and I have discovered an unbridled sense of urgency to become a better man than I have ever been before.

My wife has always been the bedrock that gave me the footing to rise, but you were the spark, in the middle of that night, that lit my fire. Thank you, Nyles, for your patience, your strength, and your heart. You didn’t just save my life; you helped me find it again.