I haven’t written since November. Around that time a series of events began to change the emotional weather of our family, and I went pencils down. My youngest daughter was fighting a severe infection, and there was also some concerning health news from my parents. Running alongside all of it, my friend Todd Richards reached the point in his cancer fight where his last and best option was clinical trials.
He passed away on Thursday.
See: Todd and Emily in the Dolomites
Todd and his wife Emily were among the first people we met when we moved to Madrid. We were the only two families from the U.S. at our church. We had gone to the same college — overlapped but never met — and we had both moved to the American South straight out of undergrad to work for large business advisory firms. Me to BCG. Todd to PwC.
They have three boys. We have three girls.
They arrived in Madrid a year before we did, and when we showed up disoriented and overwhelmed, they simply folded us in.
They showed us where to get the best “pan y tomate,” helped us navigate the metro, and introduced us to a babysitter who, within months, would become a lifelong friend.
We ate Thanksgiving together at their home. Emily loves to create elaborate meals that gather people around a table. And Todd, determined that American traditions would survive in Spain, engineered a near–MacGyver-level network of transformers and converters so their U.S. kitchen appliances could function properly in a Madrid apartment.
They left Spain a year before we did and moved back to the South. We kept in touch, but not as much as we should have.
We found out about Todd’s stage four cancer diagnosis while we were watching Gladiator on vacation in Trieste, Italy during the summer of 2024. I remember the night well. It’s the only time in my life that Katie, our three daughters, and I all burst into tears at the same time.
It would be impossible to describe Todd without talking about Emily and their boys.
During a Sunday school class in Madrid, Todd told a story about the first days after their youngest son, Ben, was born. Doctors told them he might never be able to speak, and Todd was devastated.
To cope, he started working the problem. He researched obsessively. Pushed for tests. Pressed clinicians. Searched for therapies. He believed the best outcome was to hear Ben form words and articulate sentences — to communicate the way most of us do.
The only person who could stop his obsession to solve the problem was Ben. Over time, Ben taught Todd how to communicate without grammatical structure and without words.
To see them together was to witness something extraordinary. It felt, in its own way, like finishing your favorite novel for the first time. Like walking into the Belvedere and catching your first glimpse of Klimt’s The Kiss. Like watching Aitana Bonmatí score a winner in overtime of the European Championship. You knew you were witnessing a kind of excellence and love that most of us glimpse only a few times in our lives.
See: Todd and Ben
I was just one of the many people Todd met along the way, and I’m among those who share a grateful reverence for having crossed paths with him.
When Todd first shared publicly about his diagnosis, we all tried to express our admiration and hope in the best ways we could.
The partners and staff at PwC were brilliant: “It is hard to imagine having gone through the last couple of months without the support and genuine care and concern from my PwC family.” One father drove four hours just to look Todd “in the eye and to say thank you for everything [he] had done to mentor his daughter” at the firm.
One oncologist, who had just met Todd, spent the time to hear about his life and his story. After listening, he expressed admiration and empathy, noting how incredible it was that Todd had deservedly progressed through the competitive and challenging ranks at his firm to become a partner, and then how brutal it was to — within a year —receive a terminal cancer diagnosis.
When I spoke with Todd a few months later, he was doing everything he could to beat the odds and still felt remarkably healthy.
But about halfway through his fight, the scans turned.
The cancer had spread — liver, lungs, lymph nodes, peritoneum. The language shifted from cure to time. Chemo again. Maybe clinical trials.
“You can read between the lines there,” he wrote.
And then, in that same devastating update, he described a summer camp for families with a child with disabilities. Ben had a one-on-one buddy the entire time — a young man who “nailed the assignment” and joyfully gave up a week of his life simply to serve Ben. Todd’s post ended with a video of a dance party where he forced all of us to reconcile the pain of "reading between the lines" with his legit performance to Ice, Ice, Baby.
Watch: Video of Todd Dancing
Six years ago in Madrid, there were two American men who had both graduated from the same college, married remarkable women, joined large firms straight out of school, moved to the South, had three children the exact same ages, and moved their families to Spain.
Both of us assumed we had decades ahead. For reasons I will never understand, the universe flipped a coin. And I am the one left writing.
It’s an unbearable thought.
I ended the first essay of this project by writing:
“Above all, I’m writing this because I want my daughters to see that their individual contributions in this life matter. That the things they choose to create — both now and in the future — can help them discover meaning. And that their dad sees a world where people are creating meaning everywhere.”
Of all the things I’ve seen in my 40+ years, the life Todd and Emily built together is one of the most beautiful.
In Emily’s words:
“I’m not sure I will ever do anything more meaningful with my life than to have walked this man to the end of this world. I got to spend the night laying next to him telling him how proud I was of him, these last five weeks were full of physical and mental pain that no one should ever have to experience. I told him I was the luckiest to have had him these last almost 25 years, to be loved so well by Todd was the greatest gift of my life. I told him to watch over his boys, to make sure they felt him near. I told him to go tell Ben since I cannot and tell him he will never leave him. Something tells me Ben already knew that and is having a new kind of a relationship with his dad that is beyond our comprehension. I love this man with all my heart. I’m so proud of us.”
Creating. Meaning. Everywhere.
Thank you for reading about Todd. A Go-FundMe project has been set up in his honor.
“Many have asked how they can support Emily and the boys in a meaningful way. If you’re interested, a Go-FundMe has been organized by PwC. These funds will go to [the childrens’] trust plans to help secure their education and the opportunities ahead of them—the kind of future Todd worked so hard to build for them.
The fund will also be used to help Emily create a day center for Ben and the special needs community. Emily and Todd shared a vision for a place rooted in dignity, belonging, and long-term care. This fund helps move that vision forward.”
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