My sister called last week; her husband, my brother-in-law, my friend, had died.

Although it wasn’t unexpected, it still hit hard. Memories came flooding back as I tried to come to terms with the loss. Dan was a large part of my life: first as a friend, then as a brother-in-law, an uncle to my children, the father of my nephews, and a husband to my sister.

Now he was gone.

I’ve always taken pride in being able to write: whether it is a blog for work, a technical document, or a personal post I can sit and assemble words together to tell a story, to convey a concept, or to share a feeling.

But today, words are woefully inadequate to meet the occasion or to do justice to the three and a half decades I’ve known Dan.

The most I can do is speak to vignettes that keep coming to mind.

The first time I met Dan: our first year together at KSU, Dunbar Hall, Three Short, Bernie’s room. I learned that Dan was smart, funny, and had an odd hatred of Peter Gabriel.

The time Dan came down to Virginia to help me move back to Ohio after making a terrible mistake and moving down there. When we all thought the U-Haul was going to be too small, Dan took it as a challenge. Dan directed us in putting things into and taking things out of the truck until nearly the entire three story townhouse was in the truck. The only things we left behind were two broken bike frames.

The look on Dan’s face as I referred to his major incorrectly for the hundredth time; for some reason I never was able to land on Geography, so I usually introduced him as having a degree in Geology, Geography, Geosciences, and probably a handful of other disciplines that start with a G.

An uncharacteristically nervous Dan coming to my house and asking if he could date my sister. I can’t think of any other single decision in my life that has been as consequential as that one.

A birthday party for Connor where we were all wearing pirate hats and eyepatches and holding toy swords, including Dan and his father. I can see this clearly in my mind, the smiles on the faces of three generations under the pirate flag.

A trip to see Aidan play soccer, where Dan beamed with pride as Aidan shoved through players to make a save as he proudly told me that Aidan played “just like he did”. This helped cement my mental image of how Dan played soccer back in high school.

Dan was a lot of things in his life; he was a friend, a coworker, a brother, a son, a nephew. But the two most important roles for Dan were husband and father — husband to Shannon, father to Connor and Aidan. He always tried to do the right thing, he always strove to be a good person.

Dan and I shared a love of reading; science fiction, history, fantasy, amongst others. We also had shows we watched and discussed; X-Files, The Simpsons, Babylon 5, Star Trek, and others.

It is to those sources that I go to try and make some sense, add some comfort, and share some feelings.

These are words from a funeral — Tasha Yar left them behind, played at her own memorial after her time was cut short. This is a quote that Dan would know well, and as I write it I can hear him commenting on it. I can also see him saying these words about his own funeral.

“Death is that state in which one exists only in the memory of others, which is why it is not an end. No goodbyes. Just good memories.”

— Tasha Yar, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Season One (“Skin of Evil”)

Au revoir, Dan.

Dan was born on August 21, 1971, and died September 11, 2026, after a long illness. His memorial service was held at Redmon Funeral Home in Stow, Ohio, where you can also read his full obituary.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made in Dan’s memory to the Glioblastoma Foundation.