Sunday, 13 January 2008, marked two years since the death of Ann Arbor firefighter Amy Schnearle-Pennywitt. As with the day of the accident, I didn’t want the day to pass without commemoration, so I visited the grave after church.

I wasn’t the only one commemorating that day; Amy’s family members, friends and co-workers were there for a memorial service. I arrived shortly after the service ended, so I had the privilege of actually meeting a number of people for the first time (and in a few cases, reacquainting myself with people I’d met on the scene of the accident); those conversations were moving and humbling. I was aware that her family members and co-workers had read my account of the accident, but I didn’t know just how much it meant to them until I was able to meet them; I posted my thoughts mostly for me, but when I met her family members and co-workers, I learned that those thoughts ended up serving a purpose far greater than my own catharsis.

It is the hand of God that took my words — the words of someone who played the wrong sort of role in the tragedy of that morning — and used them to bring comfort to those who needed it.