I remember my daughter sobbing behind a locked bathroom door.
My son going quiet, choosing silence over tears, hammering nails into scrap wood in the garage like he could pound his grief into shape.
And through every one of those moments, there was Daniel.
Dan, The Friend Who Just Kept Showing Up
Dan was not just Peter’s friend. He was his chosen brother.
They grew up three houses apart, survived college on cheap noodles, shared bad apartments and worse couches, and took a cross-country road trip at 22 when the only thing they had plenty of was time.
By the time I came into the picture, they were a package deal.
Dan had his own complicated history. He married young, divorced after a few rough years, and shared custody of a little girl who deserved more stability than either parent could fully give at the time.
What I always appreciated was that he never spoke badly about his ex. He didn’t ask for pity or spin himself as the good guy. He just did the best he could for his daughter.
When I lost Peter, Dan didn’t call to ask, “What do you need?” He just showed up.
He fixed the garbage disposal Peter had been promising to tackle. He stocked my fridge when I forgot what groceries even were. He sat in the garage with my son, handing him boards and nails and letting him vent all that bottled-up anger into a hammer instead of words.
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