My Brother's Friend

My brother Tom's best friend, Steve Daley, died yesterday. It happened unexpectedly, just like that. Boom. I didn't really know Steve, only through his comments on my brother's Facebook page, which were always witty and honest and pulled no punches. Steve was a writer - a well-known and respected journalist for the Chicago Tribune. Tom met him when they worked together at Porter-Novelli in Washington, DC. Steve's Facebook wall is now page after page of friends expressing their shock and sorrow and sharing their memories.

Tom just posted "I'm SO SAD," and I know that those three little words don't even begin to describe what he is feeling.

I remember when my Uncle Dick died. I was probably 12 or 13 at the time. Uncle Dick was a doctor, and I thought he was the handsomest man in the world. He died in such a stupid way - he choked to death while eating. He was, I think, in his late forties or early fifties. Uncle Dick was my dad's best friend. I remember that day so well, because even now, forty years or so later, I can still see my dad crumpling onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, and sobbing his heart out. I'm not sure anything to that point in life had ever shaken me as much as seeing my father's heart breaking for the loss of his best friend.

My brother has lost his friend, and he is SO SAD. And I am sad FOR him.  Here is the link to the Chicago Sun Times story on Steve's death: Steve Daley