Coping with the death of someone who meant a great deal to you is never easy, but we eventually get past our grieving and tears and go on with our lives.
But if you're like me, the anniversary of that death is an event you don't look forward to. We can go along for 364 days every year with a forward, positive approach to life, but it's that 365th day that once again turns us somber and reflective.
That one 24-hour period each year virtually transports us to that fateful day when someone special was taken from us. Granted, it's simply the passage of time, but it's a sad passage nonetheless.
Particularly hard are milestone years, be it one year later, five, 10, 20 or more. That's why this Saturday is a notable and sad milestone in the NASCAR and sports world.
For it will be five years since a simple man from Kannapolis, N.C., was tragically killed at Daytona.
Of course, this was not just any simple man. This was Dale Earnhardt.
And what happened on Feb. 18, 2001, was not just any simple crash. No, this was a 190-mph wreck on the final lap of the race that meant so much to him and yet also baffled him for nearly 20 years before he finally got the upper hand.
The biggest race in NASCAR. The Daytona 500.
The year before, three other drivers were killed in racing-related crashes: Kenny Irwin, Adam Petty and Tony Roper. While each of their tragic wrecks made headlines, life went on.
Earnhardt's death, on the other hand, shook the sport – and beyond – to its core, making front-page news from Charlotte to China.
The death of the man they called The Intimidator was the NASCAR equivalent to Elvis Presley's death in 1977 or the assassination of Pres. John F. Kennedy in 1963.
His fatal crash was so monumental, particularly when NASCAR president Mike Helton announced to the world, "We've lost Dale Earnhardt," that it prompted the same type of question that has historically followed Presley and Kennedy's deaths: "Do you remember where you were and what you were doing when they died?"
His fatal wreck was so shocking, much like Kennedy's assassination more than 42 years ago, that it will always seem like it was just yesterday.
Earnhardt's was the biggest and greatest name in NASCAR history. He was a man who meant so much to the sport and his fans, carving out a legacy much like Johnny Cash did in country music: they were both men in black, loved my millions yet cloaked in mystery for the intensely private lives they tried to lead outside of the spotlight.
They were the best in their respective businesses, icons that inspired and launched the careers of so many young and aspiring musicians and race car drivers. They were role models who set a standard for others to follow.
When it came to racing, Earnhardt didn't just raise the bar, he put it out of reach. It's doubtful we'll ever see another driver even equal, let alone break, the seemingly insurmountable mark that Earnhardt and Richard Petty set in their careers: winning seven Cup championships.
Jeff Gordon is the closest challenger to that mark today, but he says if he's fortunate enough to win two more titles in his Cup career, he'll quit at six and leave the legacies of The King and The Intimidator in place.
Even after winning his second Cup title last season, defending champ Tony Stewart doubts that he or anyone else will ever be able to come close to the Petty/Earnhardt milestone.
There's that word again: "milestone."
The five-year anniversary of Earnhardt's death is a milestone that hopefully will prompt us to reflect on his life, what he meant to NASCAR, how he changed the sport while alive and also how his death continued that change, particularly in the area of driver safety.
Sure, Earnhardt was a grizzled old cuss. He could tick you off with his gruff manner. And all too often, it was his way or no way, and NASCAR usually let him get away with it.
The reason was simple: because he could do it. He was the most powerful man in the sport and he cockily knew it. Bill France Jr. may have written the checks, but it was Earnhardt who laughed all the way to the bank.
Love him or hate him, fan or not, virtually everyone gave Earnhardt something that few people can command so universally: respect – and lots of it.
He was the face of NASCAR, the man upon whose back the sport began its ride to unparalleled heights. It was Earnhardt who gave us so many memories, from the fabled "pass in the grass" to the tears that seeped from the corners of his eyes when he finally held the winner's trophy at Daytona in 1998.
It was on that day we learned that even as tough as he was on the race track, he could still be just as emotional. If Dale Earnhardt could shed a tear or two and not be embarrassed, we could, too.
I often wonder what would have happened if Earnhardt had survived, or if the wreck never happened. Where would he be today?
Granted, he was in the twilight of his racing career at the time of his death, just a few months shy of his 50th birthday. It had been six years since his last Cup championship.
But as he was slowly edging toward retirement from driving, he was not retiring from racing. He was constructing an empire befitting of the name Earnhardt, building a future for his namesake, Dale Earnhardt Jr.
I'm convinced that had he lived, the senior Earnhardt would have gone on to be one of the most successful owners in Cup competition.
On a more personal note, perhaps the biggest loss wasn't the death of the racer, but the death of the man – the family man, that is. As he grew older, he had so many regrets over his youthful mistakes, including two failed marriages and not being involved in the raising of oldest son Kerry – yet he truly tried to right as many wrongs as he could.
And that's what makes the marking of the fifth anniversary of his death even sadder, as Earnhardt was robbed of so many opportunities, like growing old with wife Teresa, or eventually enjoying grandchildren.
As we all stop to pause and reflect back on the man's life, the way it was abruptly ended and what might have been if he lived on, at least we can be comforted by one thought.
Right or wrong, Earnhardt lived life his way. And he went out the way he probably would have wanted to, and the way we'll all remember him best: behind the wheel of his race car.
