Moore Than A Memory:

Christopher Moore Foundation Scholarship Fund

Christopher Moore was an amazing son, brother, grandson, friend, and so much more. He lived a life — although far too short — that was absolutely worth living. That is why we consider ourselves lucky to have had a son and brother so worth loving that even the agony of missing Christopher feels like an honor. We love him just as much today. Not differently, not quietly, but with the same fierce and endless love. Until the day there is no distance left between us.

I have read books on grief, and no one can tell you anything until you have sat in the front row. But when I read this message from a young woman, I felt it reflected the way Christopher saw life. I want to believe he sends me signs, and I felt compelled to read this to you. So much of what she expressed, I believe Christopher felt as well.

Twenty‑four hours before cancer took her life at just 27 years old, Holly Butcher sat down and wrote a message to the world. Not about fear. Not about anger. Not even about dying. She wrote about living.

Holly was a young woman from Australia with dreams most people take for granted — growing old, building a future, having children someday, laughing through decades she believed she still had ahead of her.

Then cancer arrived and shattered the illusion most healthy people live with: the belief that tomorrow is guaranteed.

In the final day of her life, Holly shared words that would later touch millions around the world because they carried a truth people often forget until it is too late.

“It’s a strange thing,” she wrote, “to realize your own mortality at 26 when you always imagined yourself becoming old.”

While most people spend their twenties planning careers, holidays, relationships, weddings, homes, and futures that seem endless, Holly was sitting in a hospital bed knowing her time was running out.

And suddenly, all the things society teaches people to obsess over felt meaningless — the petty arguments, the stress over appearance, the pressure to look perfect, the endless chase for money, status, and possessions. None of it mattered anymore.

What mattered were the simple things people often overlook because they assume there will always be another chance: fresh air, sunlight, music, a conversation with someone you love, a meal shared with friends, a walk outside, a moment laughing until your stomach hurts.

Holly begged people not to waste their lives hating their bodies. She reminded us that the flaws we obsess over will mean nothing in the end. The body you criticize is the same body carrying you through life. Move it. Nourish it. Appreciate it while it still can.

She urged people to stop trading experiences for possessions. “Don’t miss a beach trip because you bought another dress,” she wrote. Buy fewer things. Collect more memories.

Cook dinner for your friends. Write someone a heartfelt message. Tell people you love them while you still can — because eventually, there comes a moment when there are no more chances left to say it.

One of the most powerful parts of Holly’s message was her plea for kindness and generosity. Complain less. Help more. Give your time. Give your attention. Show up when people need you. Put the phone down during conversations. Truly listen.

She realized near the end that presence is one of the greatest gifts a human being can give another. Not perfection. Not success. Presence.

Holly also spoke openly about blood donation — something deeply meaningful to us, as we hold a yearly blood drive at the Congers Fire Department to honor Christopher and a dear friend’s daughter. The transfusions Holly received gave her extra time with the people she loved — more birthdays, conversations, laughter, memories, and moments she otherwise would never have had.

To someone healthy, donating blood may seem small. To someone dying, it can mean another Christmas. Another hug. Another month hearing the voices of the people they love. That extra time became priceless to her.

And perhaps the most heartbreaking part of her message was how little she focused on herself. There was no bitterness. No self‑pity. No anger about the unfairness of dying young. Instead, she spent her final public words encouraging strangers to live better lives after she was gone.

She wanted people to stop waiting for happiness. Stop delaying joy. Stop assuming there would always be more time. Because one day, for every person alive, there won’t be.

Holly ended her message with a quiet farewell that has stayed with millions ever since: “’Til we meet again.”

A young woman facing death spent her final hours reminding the world how beautiful life still is. And that may be the most extraordinary thing of all.

I truly believe that Christopher echoes each sentiment and would agree that you should strive to be Moore Than A Memory and live life to the fullest.

That is why we chose the recipient of the Christopher Moore Scholarship. His essay spoke to us and embodied the values and characteristics that so deeply remind us of Christopher — loyalty, compassion, integrity, kindness, perseverance, and an unwavering commitment to family, friends, teammates, and community.