My son, bless his heart, was only fifteen when he succumbed to a rare heart disease. It was a battle we fought tooth and nail, a relentless onslaught of hospital visits, sleepless nights filled with worry, and the constant, gnawing fear that every breath he took might be his last. Through it all, there was one constant source of support, a beacon of unwavering loyalty: Daniel, my son’s best friend. Daniel was there every step of the way, a fixture in the sterile hospital rooms, offering a comforting presence during the most agonizing moments. He sat patiently through countless hours, holding our hands, offering words of encouragement, and simply being there when we needed him most. He provided respite to my grieving husband and I, often running errands or grabbing food to keep us going. After my son passed, the void he left was immeasurable, a gaping hole in our lives that seemed impossible to fill. But even in the depths of our grief, Daniel remained a steadfast presence. He checked in regularly, offering a shoulder to cry on, sharing fond memories of my son, and helping us navigate the treacherous waters of grief. He grieved alongside us as if he lost a brother. What struck me most was that Daniel was a beacon of hope during the darkest time of our lives.
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Meanwhile, where was my family? Nowhere to be found. Excuses piled upon excuses: “too busy,” “too far away,” “too difficult.” They sent condolences, of course, but their absence was deafening, a stark contrast to Daniel’s unwavering support. And he was supporting his single mom, so he gave up college to help her. It was during this time that Daniel showed an incredible amount of character. A true friend until the end. My own family always seemed to think of money and appearances.
So, imagine my surprise when, months later, at a rare family dinner, my sister, ever the tactful one, broached the subject of my son’s college fund. “So,” she inquired, her voice dripping with thinly veiled curiosity, “what are you planning to do with the college fund?”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable storm. “I’m giving it to Daniel,” I stated calmly, my voice betraying none of the turmoil brewing within me. The reaction was instantaneous and volcanic. My sister shrieked, her face contorted in disbelief. [“WHO?! WHAT THE HELL?!”]. My mother, never one to be outdone in the drama department, chimed in, her voice laced with disapproval. “That money should go to your nephew!”
My uncle, the self-proclaimed financial guru of the family, scoffed, his eyes rolling dramatically. “You’re so stupid to give $25k to a stranger?!” The room was filled with the venomous shock of my family members, yet I was calm.
I had enough. “Okay,” I said, maintaining a measured tone despite the fury raging inside me. “I’ll transfer it to you, but only if you can promise me that you would be there for me like Daniel was after my son’s death.”
