In Honor of a Fallen Firefighter

In Memory of Christian Michael Otto Regenhard

Age - 28

Ladder 131

Graduate of the Fire Academy, Class of 2001

Veteran. Brother. Artist. Writer

Fallen on 9/11. Never forgotten.

Today, on 9/11, I climb the stairs - nine laps at Red Rocks - in honor of a man I never met, but now carry with me.

Last Saturday, when I arrived to pick up my packet for the Memorial Stair Climb, I expected a shirt, or a bib, a simple check-in. This was my first year. What I didn't expect was the table.

The organizer - a kind firefighter - handed me my shirt, then looked down at the spread of badges across the table. Each one bore the name and face of a firefighter lost on 9/11. He gestured to the table, "Who do you choose?"

I froze. There were dozens and dozens of faces. Young men, older men, all frozen in time. I gasped. My throat closed. I couldn't choose. I looked up at him. His eyes had welled - just like mine.

"I can't," I whispered. "Please...would you choose for me? And place it in my hand?"

He did gently.

When I got to my car. Only then did I open my palm to see the badge, to see him. A young man. Just 28 years old. He had only recently graduated from the fire academy - six weeks before 9/11. He was a veteran. A brother. A kind soul. And, I learned from his biography, an artist. A writer.

In that moment, I felt it - that was no random badge. That was a thread. A knowing. He found me, or I found him.

So today, I carry him. Step after step, lap after lap, around Red Rocks. Not as a performance. Not for validation. But because it's the only thing that makes sense. To honor a life cut short. To remember that behind every face was a full, beating heart. To carry a story that never got to finish.

His name stays with me on every stair. And though he could not walk, I carry him all the way to the top.

Step after step, I climb beside firefighters in full turnout gear - heavy boots, helmets, tanks strapped to their backs. Their sweat drips. Their pace steady. Their presence is humbling.

Today is hot. The sun bears down. The air is thin. My legs ache. But I don't stop. I can't stop.

Every step is a heartbeat of memory. Every lap a silent offering. Every breath a whisper of gratitude. They carry the weight of the fallen. I carry the name of one.

And together, we climb - not for glory, not for finish lines - but for remembrance.