In Memory of Frederick Myron Smith August 31, 2019 — Seven Years Later “There is a point past the pain, gentlemen.” Those were the words of one of my best friends, Frederick Myron Smith, while we trained together. At the time, it sounded like something Myron would say to push us through another set in the gym. But looking back, I realize Myron wasn’t just teaching us how to lift weights. He was teaching us how to live. Myron believed life could be unfair. It could be hard. It could hurt. But when you were in the gym and willing to push yourself beyond the point where your body told you to quit, you were practicing something much bigger than working out. You were learning how to keep going when life became painful. Another phrase Myron believed deeply was: “Iron sharpens iron.” For Myron, that meant surrounding yourself with people who challenged you, strengthened you, and helped you become a better man. Around Chris, Dan, and me, it became something we lived. It was about mutual growth, faith, fellowship, accountability, and making each other better. From the time we met Myron in 2015 until we lost him in 2019, our close group of friends became family. And that family included Myron’s wife, his two children, and his mother. Myron’s entire life was a story of overcoming the odds. He spent ten years in prison after taking the fall for a close friend he believed couldn’t handle the time. His original sentence was twenty years. While incarcerated, Myron studied law and ultimately earned his release after ten. But Myron didn’t allow those years to define the rest of his life. He attended Savannah State College and later graduated with honors from Rutgers University, finishing at the top of his class and delivering the commencement speech. Think about that journey for a moment. From a prison cell to standing in front of his graduating class giving the commencement address. That was Myron. Eventually, he accepted a job as an engineer in La Crosse, Wisconsin. And that’s how we were lucky enough to meet him. Myron was stubborn. He was a “I’ll do it myself” kind of guy. I remember watching him in the gym when we first met, lifting some seriously heavy weight without a spotter—and nearly dropping it on his head. Finally, I walked over and said, “Hey man, I can spot you.” He was a little rough around the edges at first. But once we got to know each other, something changed. We became brothers. Myron and I worked out four times a week. We played basketball at 5:00 in the morning. We went to church together. It became seven days a week of dedication, friendship, faith, and fellowship. Iron sharpening iron. Then came August 31, 2019. Myron was murdered while trying to help his mother have a safe environment. Seven years later, writing those words still hurts. Our close group of friends flew to Savannah, Georgia, to pay our respects and say goodbye to our brother. More than 400 people filled the church for Myron’s funeral. Our small group from Wisconsin stood out, but none of that mattered. We were simply there as Myron’s brothers, surrounded by hundreds of other people whose lives he had touched. I was numb. So were the rest of us. There was so much pain that day that it was difficult to fully comprehend everything happening around us. Then, unexpectedly, the pastor called us forward during the service and asked us to give Myron’s testimony. My brother Chris stood before the church and gave a beautiful testimony about our dear friend. I hate public speaking. Every part of me wanted to stay in that seat. Then I looked toward the front row. I saw Myron’s mother, Mrs. Smith, and Angel. I saw the devastation on their faces. And I knew it had to be done. Then Myron’s words came back to me: “There is a point past the pain, gentlemen.” So I stood up. And I told them about our Myron. I told them about the man we knew in Wisconsin. The man who worked. The man who studied. The man who prayed. The man who pushed us. The man who challenged us to become better men. The man who became our brother. It wasn’t until much later that I fully understood what happened inside that church that day. People in Georgia knew Myron through one chapter of his life. We had been blessed to know the man he became. We were able to stand before his family, his friends, and his community and tell them the truth about who Myron was to us. And in that moment, something changed. An invisible barrier came down. We weren’t Black or white. We weren’t people from Georgia or Wisconsin. We were simply people who loved Myron Smith. Even in death, Myron was still bringing people together. He was still making a difference. After Myron passed, Mrs. Smith would call me about once a month. I’ll never forget what she told me: “Jason, what you all did by coming down to Georgia and giving my son’s testimony was the icing on the cake. It needed to happen. You all meant so much to my son, and he meant so much to all of you.” She was right. He did. And he still does. My final words that day, standing in front of my dear friend Myron, his family, and hundreds of people who loved him, came straight from my heart: “Myron, you always said there was a point past the pain. But my friend, this is going to be hard for me to get past.” Seven years have passed. I’ve learned that maybe getting past the pain doesn’t mean leaving it behind. Maybe it means carrying forward what the person taught you. The lessons. The faith. The fellowship. The strength. The love. And the responsibility to sharpen the people around you just as they sharpened you. Myron’s life was bigger than the way it ended. His story was about redemption. Perseverance. Faith. Friendship. Family. And refusing to allow your past—or your pain—to determine your future. Seven years later, I still hear his voice when life gets difficult: “There is a point past the pain, gentlemen.” I understand those words differently now. Keep pushing. Keep believing. Keep helping the people around you become better. And when life hurts more than you think you can handle, keep going. Iron sharpens iron. Rest easy, my brother. Frederick Myron Smith Forever loved. Forever remembered. And still sharpening iron. There's a Point Past the Pain -Frederick Myron Smith ~aka Brother Pain Chris Steindorf chris@adhdcasefiles.com Connect with Chris on your favorite social media platform Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/chris.steindorf.2025 LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/chris-steindorf-89a5363a6/ For more information, go check out the ADHD Case Files website https://adhdcasefiles.com
