Danny was my brother — and for most of my life, my other half. We were a team from the start: kicking footballs into trees, building BMX jumps, collecting stickers, walking home from school. We fought sometimes, sure, but it never lasted long. He was always there. And because of that, I was never truly alone.

Growing up with Danny meant I had someone who understood me, sometimes better than anyone else. He made my childhood awesome. I probably haven’t said thank you enough — but thank you, Danny, for making those years so good.

He was younger than me by a year, but he became my role model. Once he got taller — and I stopped picking fights — I looked up to him in every way. Whether it was biking to Aberdeen in the snow, leading climbs in the mountains, or taking on a new challenge with quiet determination, Danny showed me how to live with grit and grace.

We ended up in different places — I moved around, while Danny found home early. But even from a distance, I saw who he was becoming: a solid, reliable, loyal man. A husband who adored Rebecca. A dad who adventured with his kids at every opportunity. A man who gave everything to his family.

Danny had a deep, steady faith. Through all of life’s chapters, and especially in these last few weeks, that faith never wavered. The way he carried this chapter — with calm, trust, and dignity — has left a mark on all of us. I saw it. His family saw it. His friends and colleagues saw it. And I want to say, Danny, you ran this race with your whole heart. You lived well.

He touched so many lives for good — and for God. And while he’s left us far too soon, his legacy lives on: in the lives he shaped, the love he gave, the faith he carried, and the example he set.

We were each other’s best man. But make no mistake — he was the best man.

And I look forward to seeing him again one day, pain-free, tall and grinning, ready with one of his angular hugs.

God speed, Danny. Love you, bro.