By Diane Gasper-O’Brien

Words that sound alike but are spelled just a bit differently can drive people crazy.

Using “there” for “their,” “weather” for “whether” or “sore” for “soar” are just a few words that can trip people up.

Then, there are those that can have totally different meanings despite being spelled the same.

Take the word aspirations, for example.

From the time he was a little fellow, our oldest son had aspirations of being a doctor and a pilot when he grew up. As college years seemed to drag on, he still dreamed of becoming a chiropractor and had checked into flying lessons.

Then one cold day in January 2016, while battling a nasty cold, he took a drink of water while resting in bed and inhaled the fluid into his lungs. In cruel irony, that process is called aspiration, which led to asphyxiation — and death.

Just like that, Reid’s aspirations slipped away.

Surrounded by an unbelievably overwhelming support system of extended family, friends and community we could have only dreamed of, our family bonded together and started trying to figure out how to go on with life with a vital piece of our puzzle missing.

It took a while, but somewhere in the last 365 days, I realized we had it all wrong.

That puzzle piece isn’t missing; it has just been altered.

Reid isn’t gone. He’s everywhere we look: in the face of his 5-year-old son; in some item that we find right in front of our eyes, even though we have searched the entire house for it; in a twinkling star high in the sky; on an outdoor basketball court, where he spent hours shooting hoops. Heck, I feel him when I’m driving down Main Street in Hays, Kansas.

Simply put, he’s everywhere.

So as we approached this date that will forever be etched in our memory — the anniversary of the day Reid left his earthly life behind — rather than mourn his death and his absence, I realized we should celebrate his life and his presence.

Which brings me back to the use of words that have different meanings despite being spelled the same. In particular, the word “learn.”

While visiting with Reid one day last fall, trying to help him map out his future, I asked him what exactly he had planned.

It was a difficult time. He desperately wanted to attend college full time and move on with his life, be able to support his young son and his fiancee and make his parents proud. He was torn about what would be the best approach.

Then, as only Reid could do, he decided to lighten the mood a bit. He reminded me of a morning prayer I had told him about when he was young.

“Well, if I can be a better person today than I was yesterday, I’ve accomplished something, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

You always wonder as a parent if you’ve done enough, if you have steered your children down the right path while raising them.

You fret when they have small lapses in judgment and feel their joy and their pain right along with them for choices they make that are much more impactful on their lives. You hope and pray they learn something from every choice.

But I’m not sure if I ever thought about how much I’ve learned from my children.

You never got the opportunity to take flying lessons, a huge goal of yours, Reid. But as you now soar with your eternal wings, I hope you realize how proud your parents are of all that you accomplished in 26-plus years.

On the anniversary of you going Home to be with our Lord, I have decided to celebrate a life lesson I learned from you. From this day forward, I am moving on with loving thoughts of you, and my own aspirations — to try to be a better person today than I was yesterday.

Diane Gasper-O’Brien is a longtime Hays journalist and feature writer with Fort Hays State University Relations.