When my 15-year-old son died from a heart disease, his best friend Daniel never left our side.
He was there every hospital visit, every hard night.
After my son passed, Daniel still checked in, helped me grieve, and supported his single mom while giving up on college.
My own family was NEVER there, always “too busy.”
At a family dinner, my sister asked, “So, what are you doing with the college fund?” I said, “Giving it to Daniel.”
She screamed, “WHO?! WHAT THE HELL?!” My mom added, “That money should go to your nephew!” My uncle scoffed, “You’re so stupid to give $25k to a stranger?!” I stayed calm.
Ok, I’ll repeat it for you but only if you actually listen this time,” I said, looking each of them in the eye.
“That ‘stranger’,” I continued, my voice steady, “is the boy who held my son’s hand when he was too weak to breathe on his own.
He’s the one who spent nights in a hard plastic chair so my son wouldn’t be alone in the hospital.
He’s the one who made him laugh when the pain got unbearable.
And when my son died, he didn’t disappear. He was there for me every single day when none of you were.”
The table went quiet, except for my sister’s uncomfortable shifting in her seat.
“Daniel gave up his own dreams to help his mom, and to be there for us,” I went on. “If my son were here, he’d want this money to go to the person who stood by him when it mattered most. That’s what I’m doing. End of discussion.”
I picked up my fork and took a bite of my food, ignoring their stunned silence.
Daniel had earned every cent—not because he asked for it, but because he never asked for anything at all.