Ten years ago today, my husband laced up his favorite Nikes, slipped on his red Beats, and headed out for his daily six-mile run. We kissed goodbye the way you always do, casually, confidently, assuming there would be many more. An hour later, the unimaginable happened. He was found unresponsive on the pavement behind Sunset Tower. No pulse, not breathing. A healthy 39-year-old, suddenly lifeless. Sheriff Leobardo Trujillo was the first responder. He turned Darin’s warm body over, saw his young, handsome face and knew he had to try to save him. For two to three relentless minutes, he gave everything he had. Chest compressions. Oxygen. Hope. His hands became Darin’s heartbeat. When the medics arrived, they shocked his heart back into rhythm, then rushed him to Cedars as a John Doe (a reminder to set up your medical ID), where a stent was placed in his heart and he was put into a hypothermic coma for the next three days. We were told they didn’t know how long he had been down before help arrived. We were told to prepare ourselves. He might not wake up. And if he did, he might not be the same. When they began the process of bringing him out of the induced coma, the neurologist searched for signs of him still being there, asking him to open his eyes, to wiggle his toes, to respond in small ways. Little by little, as the medication wore off, he began to show us flickers of life. Then came the moment the doctor called the biggest test of all. “Darin, if you can hear me, give me a thumbs up.” Nothing happened. Standing beside his family, watching his body wrapped in wires, a machine breathing for him, I felt fear in a way I never had before, the kind that sits in your chest, heavy and silent. The doctor asked again. As if reaching back to us, his arm began to rise…and then came the thumbs up! The entire room erupted into uncontrollable tears. Finished on the comments…