I’m thinking about Isaac Pfarr today on the 10th anniversary of his passing.

On this day in 2016, I learned about the strength of a community and how lucky I was to be a part of it. I learned that football was more than just a game. And I learned that it helps to speak about things even when they seem unspeakable.

I didn’t know Isaac that well. He was one of hundreds of kids I photographed at Patterson Mill High School. Unlike the others, though, he messaged me every Saturday morning to see when the photos from the previous night’s football game would be posted. I loved that he enjoyed my photos. He always reminded me to get more photos of the offensive line. That’s not an easy task.

The day he died, I was busy. I don’t remember with what. But all day I was thinking, “I have to get to those football pictures before Isaac starts messaging me.”

Someone organized a gathering that evening at the school. Teammates, family, friends, teachers, staff, and community members gathered outside of the football field to remember Isaac. I felt compelled to go.

I stood off to the side with my camera so as not to intrude on anyone’s grief. I debated whether to bring my camera at all, but that’s who I was in the community. And I knew somebody would want photos. That’s what I could contribute.

The team was gathered around some candles. The quarterback saw me standing off to the side, left the group, and escorted me into the circle with his teammates. He encouraged me to take photos. They trusted me to honor Isaac and not exploit their grief.

When I stepped away from the team, a man I didn’t know approached me. He wore a Huskies Football hoodie and a look that said he must be Isaac’s father.

“There but for the grace of God go I,” I thought.

Alex was finishing cancer treatment. Remission was on the horizon for her. This man was living the nightmare I had feared all year.

Rob thanked me for coming. I told him I was sorry for his loss.

Silently, I wondered how he could be there. I thought grief required privacy. Later, I understood.

He told me how much Isaac enjoyed my photos and encouraged me to share those images. He said talking about Isaac was comforting. It keeps his memory alive.

I made a note to find every picture of Isaac in my archives and make sure his family had a copy.

Rob and I became friends during the months that followed. I watched him honor Isaac with grace and show up when it had to be hard. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a glimpse into my own future.

In the weeks following Isaac’s death, I saw the Patterson Mill community come together to support the Pfarr family. I saw Isaac’s friends supporting each other. And I watched as the football coaches helped the players deal with the loss of a teammate—all while navigating their own grief.

I will always remember the first football game without Isaac. Patterson Mill traveled to Rising Sun High School. The visitors’ stands were packed. It felt like a home game.

Isaac’s family was in the stands and the crowd was inspired as well. I remember walking between the players and the crowd when I heard an odd sound coming from the stands. I looked up to see dozens of students standing arm-in-arm. They were swaying back and forth humming what sounded like a spiritual song.

In that moment, I felt “home.” I stopped to take it in before I moved on to where I was going.

Rising Sun was a gracious host. It was their Homecoming game, but they made room in their celebration for the Huskies’ grief.

The Huskies won handily that night. The Rising Sun team came across the field after the game. They invited the Patterson Mill players, coaches and fans onto their field, congratulated them on a well-played game and said a prayer for Isaac Pfarr. It was the best display of sportsmanship I ever witnessed.

I watched how this community responded to tragedy, and embraced the Pfarr family as well as each other. It made me want to be better—to be deserving of a place in it.

I didn’t know what the future held for me, and that they would embrace me as well in my time of need.

Since that day 10 years ago, I’ve come to learn two things. First is the significance of mentioning the names of those we’ve lost. I can promise you there is nothing more meaningful to Isaac’s family than speaking his name and acknowledging his life.

Second is the importance of legacy—what we leave behind.

Even though I wasn’t close to Isaac, I can tell you that at least part of his legacy—the part I am familiar with—is bringing a community together, teaching people to support one another and be better, and shining a light on the things that are truly important in life.

It had to take a special young man to accomplish that.