It seems impossible, but today marks one year since the horrific assassination of Charlie Kirk.

Like far too many people, I unfortunately saw the video of the assassination that was circulating on social media that day. I had already heard the news that he had been shot and was immediately taken to a local hospital. After seeing the video, I knew that his odds of survival were terribly low. Still, I hoped and prayed for a miracle until the word came that Charlie Kirk was dead.

Since that awful day one year ago, we’ve learned some valuable lessons. We’ve learned who the grifters and the liars are. We’ve learned who called Charlie Kirk a friend while he was alive, and then either tried to discredit or stab his wife Erika in the back after he was dead. We’ve seen the opportunists jump in to rake in subscribers and cash off Charlie’s grave, or trash his memory for attention and clout. We’ve seen twisted conspiracy theories attempt to explain away the evidence at hand to try and create a complex rationale for Charlie’s assassination. We’ve even seen the defense lawyer for Charlie’s murderer call him “hateful” in order to create a permission structure for his client’s actions.

We’ve also learned that people who pride themselves on their “tolerance” will say positively unhinged things and threaten others with Charlie’s death.

In the comments of @harvardrepclub's recent Instagram post announcing @nickshirleyy's visit to campus, UC Irvine and Chapman lecturer Matthew Goldman endorses a potential act of violence against Shirley, just before the one-year anniversary of Charlie Kirk’s assassination.

A… pic.twitter.com/HOZ1iMPMVq

— YARDREPORT (@YARDREP0RT) September 8, 2026

In short, we’ve learned that people, even people who were formerly normal and rational, can absolutely go off the deep end when they think there is more benefit to behaving differently after someone is killed.

But we’ve also seen tremendous examples of grace. Erika Kirk has done her best – and probably tried too hard to remain above it all – to ignore the haters and carry on. She has showed up to honor Charlie in very public ways when she probably just wanted to hide and grieve, while people took potshots at her for not hiding to grieve. On Monday, the New York Times published a guest essay by Erika about surviving the first year without her husband.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” I told the second lady, Usha Vance, earlier that day. As she held my hand, she said: “You know when you’re on an airplane with your kids, and you’re going to land in 15 minutes, but the kids are going crazy, screaming, throwing things, and then the plane lands, and the kids relax, and everything is fine again? That’s how it will be. Just get through the next 15 minutes.”

Her words are seared into my heart.

For months, I avoided my bedroom. I told myself it was OK to confront the pain gradually and to sit with each memory as it came to me.

The first Saturday without a love note from him passed. His 32nd birthday. My birthday. Thanksgiving. When I put the Christmas tree together wrong, it made me realize that being a widow means old traditions will need to make room for new ones. The wave crashes on me again and again. Every time, just get through the next 15 minutes.

Easter, our wedding anniversary, our son’s second birthday, the preliminary hearing for the man accused of murdering my husband, our annual trip to Maine, now as a family of three. Then the last of them, our daughter’s fourth birthday.

Another wave came as we sang “Happy Birthday” to her. As I sang through it, tears streamed down my face. I hugged my daughter as she blew out her candle. I wished he could’ve seen her. She held my arm and kissed me, and in that moment I realized that she was surviving her own little crashing waves, too.

Grief is strange. Time continues even when every part of you wants it to pause or, better yet, rewind. But the people we love who have passed on would not want us to spend the rest of our lives trying to rewind. At first, I needed to survive the next 15 minutes. Over time, I’ve realized that Charlie would want me to live them.

I have seen extraordinary good born out of something unimaginably evil. I have watched people return to faith in droves, reconcile with their families and forgive old wounds because of Charlie. I know my husband is in heaven, but I ache for him to be here. Still, I can stand and say without a shadow of a doubt that God is good.

The wave still comes, but it’s different now. A year ago, when I felt it coming over me, I wondered whether it would swallow me completely. Now, I recognize it; sometimes I even welcome it, because for a moment the grief makes Charlie feel impossibly close.

Grief is universal. It doesn’t care whom you voted for, where you come from or what you believe. Those who have walked through grief know that the waves never completely disappear; they aren’t supposed to. I am learning that grieving Charlie and living life at the same time are part of the rhythm of grief. I can miss him with every part of me and still laugh with our children. I can have a broken heart and still experience joy.

We’ve also learned that trying to find “the next Charlie Kirk” is not going to work. Men like him do not come around that often, and watching old videos of his skilled and engaging interactions remind us all of what we lost.

We’ve lost other conservative leaders like Andrew Breitbart and Rush Limbaugh, but losing Charlie Kirk hurts more because he was so young, so full of life and potential, and it was all ended with an assassin’s bullet. But there will never be another Charlie Kirk, because there was never another Andrew Breitbart or Rush Limbaugh. Someone else eventually rises up to fill a similar niche in their own way, without necessitating a comparison to a late personality. The conservative movement is built on ideas and ideals, and after Charlie’s death, others have stepped into the void left behind. Just because they don’t command the crowds, or have the same charismatic appeal, or the same amount of YouTube clips, doesn’t diminish their impact.

Every generation must learn to defend freedom for itself, or lose it. When Charlie Kirk was murdered, we lost a passionate defender of America, faith, and conservative values. What this year has shown all of us is that there are others who are willing to stand up and speak out. Eventually, someone may reach the status and reach of Charlie Kirk. But there will never be another man like him. Remember his family today. Pray for his children, because they are the ones who suffered the greatest loss a year ago. And honor him by speaking truth in love, just as he did.

Featured image: original Victory Girls art by Darleen Click