A letter from Landon's Dad

In March of 2021, when Landon was diagnosed with childhood brain cancer, I could never have imagined a life without him. When he passed away in December of 2022 at age 10 ½, I still couldn't imagine one.

In the four years since, grief-heavy as the last 1423 days have been, I could never have imagined how Landon would fundamentally change me, where that change would take me, what I would discover about myself, or how Jesus would find and repair a broken soul like mine and lead me to purpose. It almost sounds fake, but I learned about Jesus and salvation while bawling my eyes out on the side of a trail - at mile 3.16.

Life is short. We all know that, but we don't live like it. Since Landon died, I've pushed myself further than I ever thought possible, even past a ruptured tendon in my ankle (not recommended). But the truth is, I know I've barely scratched the surface of what I'm capable of doing for families and research.

The Project Endure mission is simple: use endurance to deliver. That means delivering funding to childhood cancer research, delivering financial support to families, and finding insanely interesting and challenging ways to do it. Everything from a Saturday morning group ride to a family's house, to a 100-miler group run just to give money to research. Take on an Ironman in Colorado with another dad like me and then give to research at University of Colorado where his daughter was treated? Let's do it. Bring the community together for something crazy like a 100-person 100-mile relay? Let's do it. Meet with a UC Santa Cruz researcher, hike a mountain, get a tour of her lab, give to her research, then make a delivery episode called "Hike. Lab. Give."? Oh, it's happening. I want to use endurance to make childhood cancer research, dare I say, freakin' cool. And for all of these deliveries, I want to create content people want to watch and be part of.

I want to share a different side of childhood cancer. The story isn't sadness. It's inspiration. I didn't run or bike nearly every day for 4 years, through nagging injuries, just because I was sad or just because I liked it. I did it because I was inspired. I want to reach other parents and people struggling with grief and show them that the inspiration they're looking for is right there in the memories of their loved one. But finding it means going deep into the memories you'd rather avoid. And trust me, I'm still learning how to do this myself. It's not easy, and I don't do it nearly as often as I could. As Carl Jung said, "What you most want to find is where you least want to look."

Losing Landon forced me to confront parts of myself I had spent years avoiding. It changed the way I see life, hope, Jesus, pain, purpose, grief, overcoming addiction, and what's possible when we stop running from the things that hurt and start running into them instead.

I want to pursue more public speaking and podcasts to share what Landon taught me, and is still teaching me, including what I've learned about grief from spending thousands of miles alone on the trails. Through those conversations, my hope is that I can help others struggling with grief to find inspiration to work toward becoming the best version of themselves. Not inspiration from me, not even inspiration from Landon, but in the inspiration found in the loved one they've lost. Because that's where the inspiration is.

I have a lot of ideas for Project Endure, but I can't build this alone. I'm just a dude who, back in December 2022, had never even run. I never saw any of this coming. All things considered, I'd be remiss if I didn't give it everything I've got and see what's possible.

I know there's something here worth building, and I'd love to find people who want to be part of it.

Matt Meo
Founder, Project Endure
Landon's Dad