My wife Ksenia was beautiful and brilliant and a fierce mother. In the thirteen days after Sasha died, her grief turned inward in the worst possible way. The violence of how her son died — the shock of it, the inability to make sense of it — became, in her mind, evidence of her own failure. Her suffering was profound and it overwhelmed her.

On April 15th, Ksenia went missing.

I came home, after picking Peter up at a friend's house, to find our Big Red truck gone and all of our family documents — passports, birth certificates — laid out carefully on the bedside table. I called 911 immediately.

That night, friends and neighbors searched. They found the truck at Cheyenne Open Space, near the high school. The mountain looked like a scene from the film "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" — searchlights, ATVs, dogs, heat detectors, divers in the reservoirs. A bitter cold wind drove through the night — I will never forget the bracing cold of it. I remember thinking: God, she must be so cold. We have to find her.

A spring snow had covered her at the original search area. Days later, when my sister called to tell me they had found a body, all feeling left me. Even expecting the worst, the worst becoming real is a different thing entirely.

My extended high school cross country team showed up. Chris came to help me search — he had introduced us, and he was just there. We hiked and hiked through places I thought she may have gone, different from where we found the truck. Everyone called to give support. Al read Sasha's autopsy report and the coroner's report so I would not have to — confirming there was nothing suspicious — thank you, Big Al — something I am not sure I could do even today. Some came all the way to Colorado.

Even in that moment I could only feel grateful to have these relationships that now go back almost 50 years — from skinny kids trying to be a good running team to grown men facing the realities of life together. These friendships I treasure always. There are no words.

I also never got to properly thank the hundreds of volunteers who searched for Ksenia, or the many who attended the funerals. It is hard to describe how surreal those days were. Just going anywhere required everything I had. So if you were there — please know I am forever grateful. To the first responders, to the USAFA family, to our friends and neighbors who showed up without being asked. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

April 2 to April 18. Sixteen days. A family of four became two.