For those who missed it- here are my words from Ryan’s service:

A couple of weeks ago, I was having breakfast with my nephew, Beck. We were just chatting about life when he asked me what my first childhood memory was. Without hesitation, I told him, “It was the day my parents brought my baby brother — your dad — home from the hospital.”

It sounds like a sweet, endearing memory. It wasn’t.

It was Christmas Eve. And I had asked Santa for a sister.

Instead, I was introduced to this tiny, swaddled little bean —
a brother — laying on my parents’ bed.

I was told to be quiet.
I was told to be gentle.
Don’t hit the baby.

And I remember thinking…
I had been sold a bill of goods.

But I was wrong.

Ryan and I became fast friends, despite a few minor annoyances.

Baby Ryan loved books.
Loved them.
Devoured them.

My Pokey the Little Puppy book still has tiny gummy teeth marks along the cover
where my teething brother found a little relief.

Ryan was a little late to speak.

On one trip to the pediatrician, my mom shared her concerns,
while I confidently told the doctor:
Ryan’s favorite color,
his favorite bedtime story,
and what flavor lollipop he would want after his shots.

The doctor smiled and told my mom she had nothing to worry about —
Ryan just had an overzealous, chatty older sister.

And then one day,
he started speaking in complete sentences.

That was Ryan.

He observed.

He waited.

He watched the world carefully.

And then — when he was ready —he acted.

And once he acted, he was unstoppable.

Ryan skied beginner runs… and then suddenly, moguls.

One day he couldn’t ride a bike,and the next day he just got on and rode.
No help.
No hesitation.
Just rode.

At ten, after trying soccer, baseball, and basketball, he found football.

And when he found football, he found himself.

Ryan bloomed into a strong, gifted athlete.

Watching Ryan grow into who he was meant to be
was like watching a sunrise —slow at first, peeking over the horizon,and then brighter,
and bigger, impossible to ignore, illuminating the landscape and bringing the day.

It was fun to be a sister to the sun.

Shooing off friends who had a slightly inappropriate crush on my brother…

Skiing with the guy everyone watched and cheered from the chairlift…

And seeing this once-shy, book-eating kiddo become a kind, confident, strong young man.

We were watching home movies the other day.

Young Ryan was dashing, and the memories were bittersweet.

His caregiver remarked that it was great to see Ryan in his first body.

Ryan’s first body.

If you knew him in his first body, it’s easy to say…

I wish you knew Ryan when…

When he hiked the Wind River Valley.

When he rafted the Grand Canyon.

When he traveled the world with his beloved wife.

When…
When…
When.

But if you knew Ryan —no matter his first or second body —

If you knew Ryan, you knew Ryan.

You knew the athletic man in different ways.

A man so strong that even when he couldn’t feel his feet
and his quads weren’t firing, he insisted on walking.

He walked with a teeter, a pirouette,
a couple pivots…navigating the space,
staying upright when his entire body was telling him to fall.

He kept walking.

If you knew Ryan, you knew the man who summited Wheeler Mountain
just this last summer, 13,000 feet in elevation, one step in front of the other,
surrounded and supported by a devoted group of friends and family.

If you knew Ryan, you witnessed the coordinated dance of a father with a baby in a Bjorn,
restraining a toddler from a flight of stairs, and folding laundry, all while fixing dinner.

If you knew Ryan, you placed your hand in his and felt that familiar, crushing grip…a strong man who could not feel his hands but just wanted to know your hand was in his.

He looked you right in the eyes and told you thank you.

Never mind that he was seeing double or triple vision.
Never mind the pause as he coordinated the words between a tongue that no longer communicated properly with his brain… He held your hand and he thanked you.

Ryan may have had a first body and a second body, but we all only knew one Ryan.

Strong.
Determined.
Funny.
Kind.
Fiercely brave.

In trying to write these words about my brother, I asked,
What is the purpose of a memorial service?
Why are we here today,
in this sacred space,
to honor this amazing human?

A lot of answers came back.

But one word stuck with me; Transcendence.

Going beyond the ordinary.
Surpassing limitations.

And if anyone knew how to do that, it was Ryan.

Ryan spent his whole life going beyond expectations…
beyond limitations…
beyond what his body told him he could or couldn’t do.

Whether climbing mountains, raising his boys,
or simply insisting on standing
when standing was hard ,  Ryan kept going.

And that hasn’t stopped.

Because the very best parts of someone. don’t stay behind.

They move forward.

They live on:
in the people they loved, the family they built,
and the community they shaped.

And that brings us back to why we’re really here today.

We’re here for each other.

For Jen —who lost her husband, her person.

Reach out.
Take her for margaritas.
Sit with her.
Text her.

If she doesn’t answer, try again.

Tell her you love her.
Make it awkward.

Call me if you need recommendations.
I’m a pro at awkward.

To my beautiful nephews —you move forward carrying the best parts of my brother:

grit,
resilience,
strength,
and kindness.

And to the village Ryan built:

Throw the ball.
Share the stories.
Offer the advice.
Fix the bike.

Help with the math…because again…so. not. my. lane.

And to my brother.  I will miss you forever.

I’ll probably still call on you for advice every once in a while…like how to navigate being the only living child to four parents.

Seriously… don’t stay silent on that one.

And how to be kind.

How to be brave.

And how to face life’s biggest challenges head-on with beauty, grace, and humor.

I love you, my brother.

And we will carry you forward.

Godspeed.