As a child growing up the 1980s, Christopher Reeve was Superman. 1978's Superman: The Movie was my introduction to the character. It was also my introduction to comics, and in a way, my introduction to storytelling. More importantly, it was an introduction to my own imagination.

As a boy in the summertime, my back yard simulated an imaginary Metropolis. Donning a cape by clipping a beach towel around my neck, I would run around playing make-believe, saving the world one blade of grass at a time; I was fast. I was strong. I could fly.

I was Superman.

Eventually I grew up, but I didn't stop believing and I never stopped dreaming. Comics came and went over the years. Superman changed. He died, he came back. He got new powers, he lost them. I left comics, then came back, then left again.

Watching Superman: The Movie still makes me smile. I don't smile enough nowadays. Christopher Reeve was largely responsible for allowing that movie to resonate after so many years. His performance was key in making the film work, and for making me fall in love with fantasy, science fiction and storytelling. Superman: The Movie is one of those films that I try to watch once a year; a timeless story that helps me escape back to my childhood, and simultaneously gives me hope and inspiration for the future.

Christopher Reeve passed away on October 10th, 2004. After his spinal cord injury in 1995, he never stopped being Superman. He never stopped fighting to help those less fortunate, he never lost his strength and passion for the greater good. As a boy, he made me believe that a man could fly. As an adult, he taught me that a man doesn't need legs to be a hero; that a man doesn't need a body to change the world.

Chris was one of the few celebrities that I had always wanted to meet in person. He was more than a childhood hero. He was a teacher, and for me he became an adulthood hero. He never seemed to dwell on what he couldn't do, but instead chose to focus on what he could do. Me being the procrastinator that I am, always second-guessing my skills and my direction in life, paralyzed in ways that aren't related to my body, Chris would probably have become frustrated with me rather quickly. It's unfortunate that in death, his lessons finally sunk in. I wish I had paid attention sooner. I now realize that I've doubted myself for too long. I've been paralyzed. I choose not to be anymore. I'm a better artist and a better writer than I give myself credit for. It may not seem fair or tasteful to compare my shortcomings to what Chris had to suffer through, but I believe that's exactly the lesson he was trying to preach for so many years: Don't sell yourself short. Don't be your own worst critic. Cherish what you have and what you can do. Developing your own inherent powers can open doors and lead to bright new horizons. Nothing is impossible.

This is a belated goodbye to Chris on my part. I had wanted to write something sooner but wasn't quite sure what to say that hadn't already been said. Eulogies tend to get repetitive and unoriginal. They always seem forced and I never really liked reading them. But as I've always liked to say; "Do it from the heart, or don't bother doing it at all." This is from the heart.

Unlike the comic book Superman, Chris won't be coming back, but he will live on. His spirit will exist in our hearts and I will carry his message with me for the rest of my natural life. I feel I owe him that much. Perhaps I owe myself that much too.

I'd like to close with an overused but wonderful quote, one of the best ever written for a Superman story. (Superman: The Animated Series, "Apokolips Now! Part 2") I think the quote is fitting for a man like Reeve:

"Goodbye, old friend. In the end, the world didn't really need a Superman. Just a brave one."

Thank you Chris, for helping a boy to dream. To believe...

...that we can fly.