After my 15-year-old son, Ben, died, my family demanded his $25,000 college fund. But his final wish was clear: give it to Daniel, his best friend.
Throughout Ben’s three-year illness, Daniel visited every weekend while my relatives made excuses. After the funeral, he kept checking on me, even while working to support his single mother.
My sister insisted the money belonged to “blood family.”
“Okay,” I said. “But first, tell me about Ben’s last day.”
Nobody could. They hadn’t been there. Daniel had held Ben’s hand until the end.
I honored Ben’s wish and helped Daniel start college studying engineering.
“I’ll make you both proud,” he promised.
“You already have, son,” I replied.