My love for MMA runs deep to a point that is difficult to describe.

I often joke with my wife Renée that my marriage to the fight game is as intense and passionate as a real life relationship. That play wins me no points at home, but the amount of sacrifice and ambition poured into this thing for nearly a decade does not go unnoticed around my house.

Instead I have three people who all love me very much and who have to adjust every time I hit the road on some uniquely angled story my borderline-crazy mind has cooked up. They've always supported me and will forever continue to do so because they know what that search means to me.

Furthermore, they know what it means to all of you who follow and have followed my storytelling for years, and to the host of people who have given such tremendous support to FloCombat since our launch back in April of last year.

Simply put: Every step of this journey has come in connection to something bigger, and that something has been the MMA community in full. Over the past eight years I've woven in and out of your lives in different roles for different websites, but no matter the position, I've always felt a connection to the contingent who carries the same passion I do for this crazy, chaotic sport.

While other writers battled to carve out their voices in the opinion world, my avenue is and will always be telling the stories of the men and women who step inside the cage. Our professions may carry drastic differences, but there are also many similarities--too many to list in fact--but setting market value and only being as good as their last offering are two that come quickly to the forefront.

Most of my time spent writing about the sport has seen days fly by and blur like scenery from a bus window, but there have been moments where stark and violent stops brought everything in my world to a halt.

The afternoon of Sunday, May 21 was one of those days.

[tweet url="https://twitter.com/DuaneFinleyMMA/status/866518274867163137" hide_media="0" hide_thread="1"]

It was a day that started out like any other. I wrote my article for the day, essentially getting the bulk of my work out of the way early, then used the spare time presented to record an episode of my podcast. My family was out and about doing their respective things, with Atticus battling the neighborhood boys in driveway basketball and Zoe upstairs in her favorite spot reading as she often does.

I took the free time to do what all dads should do when hard work opens the doors for a lazy Sunday and took a nap, especially because we MMA folks truly understand there are no days off. All was well and happy--until I was woken up abruptly by my daughter as she handed me her phone.

In a rare move, I'd switched my phone to silent in an attempt to quiet the never-ending beeps, swishes, chirps and train whistles. I did so to ensure I could have the nap I often dream about, and I was well on my way to getting that done until I was woken up with an emergency.

I can assure you I'll never turn my phone off like that again.

I don't remember exactly what my younger brother Jeremy told me, but the information my mother had passed away zapped like a shockwave through the phone. As I grabbed my phone to call my father, I noticed my screen was filled with 13 missed calls and text messages instructing me to call immediately.

I was in a state of disbelief from the call with my brother, but the conversation with my father confirmed the nightmare was true. My mother, who was only 56 years old, had indeed passed away sitting in the living room of their house that afternoon. So many questions came to mind, but they were quickly erased to deal with the pain that accompanies acute grief in those unexpected moments.

The minutes following the conversation with my father were a blur as I scrambled to tell my wife what had happened, all the while rounding up my clothes and work equipment as I rushed around the house. My parents live just a touch short of five hours west of our house in Indianapolis, and I knew I needed to get home in order to keep my father from falling apart.

A quick post on social media asking anyone from that area to please keep an eye on him or sit with him until I arrived is how the word of my mother's passing initially got out, and another followed an hour or so later as I attempted to get out of my own head driving headlong into the darkness.

Once that information hit the social media wires, my phone went into a carnival of sounds and light flashes as condolences and well wishes began to come through en force. At first I attempted to ignore them, but they simply kept coming, so I began to look at the names coming across the phone. And there in the beginning stage of my darkest moments, fighter after fighter, reader after reader, peer after peer, and fan after fan began to reach out.

When tragedy strikes, there are short messages to let someone know they are in their thoughts, then there are personal messages that are direct extensions of the heart, and each and every one of the messages or phone calls that came through were of that nature. Three times driving along I-74 I had to pull over and let my emotions run their course in full, and each outburst came from reading the sentiments laid out on my phone screen.

[tweet url="https://twitter.com/DaveTheMMAGuy/status/867028170410741762" hide_media="0" hide_thread="1"]

While I was undoubtedly lost in the heart and darkness of it all, the messages from fighters and from the MMA community in full took a special hold on me. The effort given by all was truly overwhelming and appreciated to the point of tears by a man who desperately needed something to grab onto.

Losing my mother had yet to set in full-blast, but already the community I'd given so much to was promptly there to let me know a brother would not fall on this night or in the days to come. When I say there were moments I could feel my legs give out and could barely stand because of the weight of everything on my shoulders I truly mean it, and just like my family in the flesh, the MMA community was one of the elements that kept me standing tall.

And as I sit here writing this thing, I'm still not entirely sure how to say "thank you."

Writing stories and conducting the interviews they are derived from are never just assignments to me, and they've never been. I've always felt a deeper motivation to do them, and this has especially rung true on the larger efforts like the road trips or the more in-depth projects like the one I did with Carlos Condit in the lead up to UFC 195.

Spending a month away from the family who loves you, couch surfing and scraping by on rations isn't something many would willingly sign up for, but the chance to tell a story the way I envisioned it has always been enough to get me out and into the wind.

When I look back on those efforts, there is zero doubt those projects meant something more to others because the relationships built from those endeavors have only deepened in the years since. When the news of my mother's passing hit those individuals, they all reached out with sincere efforts to let me know they were there for me.

And while that may not mean much to some, it meant everything to me in that moment and it continues to resonate still nearly two weeks down the road. And here is why.

When you give everything you have to give to something, even the most steadfast and confident of us reaches a point where we wonder, "What's it all worth?" I've always identified myself as a seeker and a rambling man of purpose, but there have been plenty of points where I've questioned whether or not I'm a fool for chasing this dream.

More times than not, I've worked out a scenario where everything done and sacrifices made were worth as much as I'd always imagined, but in moments where the darkness takes a stronger hold of my psyche, I've found myself reaching out from those shadows looking for something to hold onto.

This profession has brought me two of my closest friends in this world in Thomas Gerbasi and Hunter Homistek, and there wasn't a moment of hesitation in either to reach out and give me their shoulders to latch onto. Both refused to go away even though I attempted to push because they knew I was simply lashing out at the frustration of losing a loved one without rhyme or reason.
 
That said, for every text message or phone call they sent, 10 or 20 messages from those I'd never met in person came through my messages on social media, all for the purpose of letting me know they were there for me in my time of need. Friends and colleagues Elias Cepeda and Dave Doyle also offered incredible insight at times when I didn't want to listen to nor feel anything, but I sit here grateful I let them in when they knocked.

People have the agency to do what they wish with their time, and to think so many of you chose to take the time to wish me well or offer your prayers is something I'll truly never forget. Ever.

As you can imagine, the tide of this thing has risen, fallen and returned with varying frequency and strength since that awful afternoon back in May, and each time it hits hard I freeze up and get lost somewhere in my head. I get stuck wondering about the what-ifs or the maybe-this-or-that's along the way, but the end result is always the same. My mother is gone forever and it's on me to push forward the way I've done through everything in my life.

And I will, but I know the first step to where I'm at now would not have been possible without all of you, and I sincerely want to thank you all. Since I don't have the time or the emotional space to go through each message individually, I decided to write this letter to let each and every one of you who gave warmth and comfort to me in that time of need just how much it was truly and genuinely appreciated.

The same rings true on the fighters' side of things as well, from Max Holloway, who was preparing for the biggest fight of his career and the incredible words he offered to family friends like Cub Swanson, Stipe Miocic and Frankie Edgar who all gave such powerful messages in a time when I needed every bit of positivity I could find.

Just how much this all means to me is difficult to describe, but I truly believe it was worth giving a shot in hindsight.

To top things off, my sincerest gratitude goes out to my FloSports family who did so much to let me know my family was in their thoughts and hearts. Messages and phone calls flooded in from my brothers and sisters in arms all the way to the Floreani brothers themselves sending a beautiful arrangement to the memorial service last Saturday.

One of the few comforts I have in all of this is knowing how proud my mother was of my career and of what we've built at FloCombat. I know this because she let the world know at every turn on her Facebook page or in constant texts on Saturday nights telling me just how much she loved me for being brave enough to chase something into the unknown.

[tweet url="https://twitter.com/DuaneFinleyMMA/status/867003978252525568" hide_media="0" hide_thread="1"]

My mother suffered from a mental condition that caused her to be terrified of the outside world to the point she barely left her home. Seeing me charge out into the world in an effort to find the man I wanted to become was inspiring to her. For as much as that hurts to write because it furthers her passing as permanent, it is the truth in that statement that also carries me forward.

The way time goes, I know I'll blink and another year will go by and the weight of this painful thing will feel nowhere near as devastating as it did in that moment, but I know in my heart I'll always remember how people who didn't have to care did so very much at the most crucial time for a writer, husband and father who simply tries to be the best he can at all times.

Because that's all we can ever do, and I want to thank you all for doing exactly that when I needed it the most.