Everybody loses people they love. It’s a fact of life — an unfortunate one any time, but especially when the loss comes far too soon.

Sometimes the loss is private, shared only with those closest to us. On rare occasions, it’s intensely public. Most of the time, it’s somewhere in between.

On July 27, 2007, four newsmen in Phoenix lost their lives in an accident that stunned not just the city, not just the state, but the entire country. While covering a breaking story, two news helicopters — one of them from the station I’ve had the honor of being a part of for nearly 16 years –  collided in mid-air over the central part of the city. Both choppers went down in a park near the VA hospital. There was a pilot and a photographer aboard each one. They died on the job – making live TV. Their deaths – the city’s loss — could not have been more public. (Photo tribute)

Another staggering blow came hours later with the brazen murder of a Phoenix police officer who just doing his job.

Five lives lost. Five families devastated. Millions of people affected.

In the days and weeks after the crash, the residents of Phoenix came together in a way I had never seen. My station is known as Arizona’s Family. Based on personal experience, I consider that true. When I was diagnosed with cancer, my co-workers were there for me. I didn’t have to ask. They were simply there. In the wake of the crash, we were there for each other.

Not only that, we bonded uniquely with our viewers, hundreds of whom came to the studio and went to the park that was the site of the crash.

It’s been four years. In some ways it seems like yesterday. In others, it seems like decades have passed. Time is funny that way.

Although felt most intensely by them, these horrible losses went far beyond the families and friends of Jim Cox, Scott Bowerbank, Rick Krolak, Craig Smith and Officer George Cortez. Their deaths broke the hearts millions. Complete strangers came together. They cried together. They comforted each other. Sound familiar? Of course, there was no cheering, but everybody supported each other as best they could. No questions asked. No strings attached.

It was something you might expect in Small Town USA, but Phoenix is a major metropolitan city, the sixth largest in the country. Still, the people here came together to heal. It was nothing short of incredible.

Of course, all of this happened years before I ever considered taking part in the 3-Day. As stunned as I was by the generosity and openness and sheer wonderfulness of the 3-Day community that so openly welcomed me, I had see hints of it before. On July 27, 2007. On July 28, 2007. On July 29, 2007. On every anniversary of the horrific chopper crash and the needless shooting that ended five lives much too soon.

When the anniversary of that heart-wrenching day rolls around, I remind myself to think not about how those five men died, but how they lived. It’s cliché, I know. But clichés come into being for a reason.

No matter how it happens, those of us left behind owe it to ourselves to honor the loved ones we lose, especially when they’re lost to cruel twists of fate sparked by a butterfly flapping it wings in some far off land. The best thing any of us can do is live life deliberately, the way they would have wanted us to. The way we would have wanted them to.

If we allow it, the best in them will bring out the best in us. Hold that close while sharing it with others and you’ll find that the spirits of those we hold dear live forever.

And that’s exactly how it should be.

In honor of their son and brother, the Cox family has established a foundation designed to bring out the best in budding photographers by providing equipment and scholarships to help them to hone their craft. For more information, please visit JamesAlanCoxFoundation.org.