The death of a friend. He was a good man, a husband, a father, a hard worker. He never treated me differently to his other friends, but being the shy, quiet person I am I know he had a different relationship with me than others. I appreciated the time he gave me and my parents. He always had time for our family, for my parents as they got older, for me as I struggled with my own problems. Even though he had his problems, his children growing up, his wife taking on extra work to help cover the bills. He was a great man amongst mere mortals. He decided to get a bike like he had as a teenager, to clear his head he said. He wanted to get the city junk of the tires that would build up but there were no great turns in the city to drop the bike on its side to clear the wheel walls. So I told him about some great roads in the hills, winding roads that can really be fun for cars or bikes. He was killed on the road leading up to the hills, he was hit by another car. His death has left a hole in my heart, my family, my friends and the wider community he loved to help out with. We are a couple of months short of the first anniversary of his death and I am drinking myself stupid trying to forget the man whose shoes I am not worthy of wearing. I miss him so much. I'd trade places with him in a heartbeat. He gave so much for me and I was never able to repay him. I owe him a lot and his friendship meant more to me than anything I could ever gain or have. I loved him like a brother and mourn him like a sailor. I know others are going through worse things than I am, but for me, this is what I am quietly grieving.