March 2026: Going Through The Unimaginable

The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas

This is one of the few stories that is in my top 3 all time for both the book and the movie. I LOVE this story.

I’m sure most of you have at least seen one of the movie adaptations of this book, and that may feel like enough… but if you haven’t read the book… I highly recommend it.

Relatively recently, PBS did a mini-series of The Count of Monte Cristo with a couple big-name actors. My wife and I are almost done with that one and it has been fun to go back and revisit this story.

If I had to rank which versions to pay attention to… I’d say:

1. The unabridged book (linked above and below).
2. The movie with Jim Caviezel made in 2002. Top 3 movies for me all-time.
   They take some creative initiative and change some things from the book, but I really like the decisions they made in this one.
3. The PBS mini-series made in 2024. 
   This seems to stay more true to the book.
   So far, it’s a little more PG than what I think is portrayed in the book, but it’s PBS so… can’t blame them for that 🙂

Absolutely love this one.

I feel like I relate to Edmond Dantes in the sense of… if that had happened to me… I fear I would have a similar course of action.
Not just the revenge side, but the good he tries to create in the lives of those who were hurt at no fault of their own.

Get it Here

Words of Wisdom – Going Through The Unimaginable

It was Wednesday, March 4th.

I was on a call with a surgeon friend of mine.
Back when I was intent on becoming a doctor, he let me shadow him on multiple occasions in his operating room. We were talking about potentially having him come on the channel and share his thoughts around his specialty.

As we were talking, the red and blue flashing lights of a cop car came whirring around the corner towards my house. We live at the end of a cul-de-sac, and the car stopped two doors away from us.

Then, two more cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance.
“That’s a lot of attention” were my thoughts at the time… “I hope everyone is okay.”

They all stopped outside the house of our neighbors who are on the older side.
As I was talking to my doctor friend, I was thinking, “Oh no… someone’s had a heart attack at the [not going to divulge their names here] house.”

But… they didn’t go to my senior neighbors’ house.
They went across the street, to my other neighbors who are younger and have two young kids. One in high school. One in middle school.

Minutes Go By

I consider myself an empath.
It is hard for me to keep my thoughts from trying to not just think what others are thinking, but feel what others are feeling.

I ended the conversation with my friend and went out on the porch as other neighbors were stepping out of their houses to see what was going on.

I felt it was wise to keep my distance and let the first responders do their thing without me being a nosey neighbor getting in the way. I sent a quick text asking if everything is okay to the dad and the daughter who used to be a regular babysitter for our kids.

My mind was racing.
What could possibly warrant this many first responders?
All I could think about was the fact that there was clearly something terribly wrong, and the emergency personnel were taking a long time in there.

Having been in a couple of situations like that, I know from experience that seconds feel like hours, and minutes feel like days when a life is hanging in the balance.

After about 20 minutes, a wheeled stretcher is taken into the house. It returns with someone on it and emergency responders doing chest compressions on the individual as it is wheeled into the ambulance, and they drive away.

“Oh no.”

It was dark, so I couldn’t see who was on the gurney, but I saw the teenage girl in the driveway, so I knew it wasn’t her. I assumed it was her dad.

It wasn’t her dad

My sister and brother-in-law live 3 doors away from me, and they are very close with this family. I was getting updates from him as he followed the family to the hospital, ultimately leaving their sides after midnight because the worst had happened just after midnight on March 5th.

Earlier that night, their 15-year-old boy had collapsed at home.
A freak, unknown medical issue caused his heart to stop.
The family did everything they could.
The emergency responders did everything they could, including getting his heart to start beating again on the way to the hospital.

But… ultimately… it wasn’t enough.

The funeral
His funeral was this past weekend.
It was an unbelievable experience and one where I could not stop crying.
This boy… who is only a couple years older than mine… and has been a staple in our lives as he and his sister come over to play or watch our kids or hold night games in our circle and use our house as a home base… was gone.

His family, friends, and teammates got up and shared their memories of him.

It was beautiful and oh so tragic.

Two Things
The First Thing

It’s hard to write this and I’m a mess compared to how you normally see me in the YouTube videos.

My mind goes to the lines from the Broadway show – Hamilton – after Alexander Hamilton’s son died.

These are a selection of those lyrics.

“There are moments that the words don’t reach.

There is suffering too terrible to name.

You hold your child as tight as you can

And push away the unimaginable.

The moments when you’re in so deep

It feels easier to just swim down.

If you see him in the street

Walking by himself, talkin’ to himself, have pity…

He’s working through the unimaginable.”

The father. The mother. The sister.
They are all going through the unimaginable.

My step brother was killed in a car accident a few years back, leaving two young kids.
My dad and stepmom described their time in the hospital as their lives were collapsing, and yet… the life-flight helicopter kept coming and going while her son was lifeless on the table.

Every few minutes, someone else’s world was crumbling.
Someone else was going through the unimaginable – all while they were, too.

This happens every day, and so it’s hard for me to get too angry at people when I don’t know their story.
I don’t know what they are going through or have gone through, and I can’t imagine the pain that this mother and father and sister are going to carry with them each and every day for the rest of their lives.

The Second Thing

I read an interaction from a senior woman who was talking with a gal friend of hers. Her friend was frustrated about getting older.
She was complaining about how, as she moved from her 40s to 50s and 60s, life just kept getting so much more difficult.

She didn’t feel as pretty as she once did.
She didn’t feel as energetic as she once did.
She didn’t move as fast as she used to and the world was moving faster and faster.

All of these feelings are real and valid and hard.

This woman who was listening to her friend wrote how she responded to her friend.
“Growing older is hard, but to remember that everybody gets to be young. Not everybody gets the opportunity to grow old. And that is a precious and an important thing to be grateful for.”

Given the context of our young neighbor, it hit like a sledgehammer.

I got to graduate high school and college.
I got to have a loving relationship with a spouse and kids and a career.

Others… do not.

Our lives are so precious, and our time here at times can feel so painfully slow and long, while at other times… so brief.

Please… at some point in this next month, do something that makes you feel like you are making the most of this one precious and beautiful life.

Send that text message.
Make that phone call.
Give that hug.
Say the words.
Don’t put it off.
Because life can change in the blink of an eye, and you may not get another chance.

My Apologies
I am sorry for more of a downer message this month.
Life is wonderful and tragic and joyful and heavy and sad sometimes.
It is all part of our human existence, and the past couple of weeks have been a period with sadness where I try to reflect, learn, and be there for the people I love.

Thank You
Thank you for being a part of my life.

I hope you have a wonderful month, and I’ll see you in the next newsletter.

Erik