Navigating Grief and Gratitude

Morning ritual. Learned of Dan's passing. SESIG discussion with Jim Cole about death and photography. Made difficult phone calls. Photo library rebuild. Workflow refinements. Monday Suds with Burner group. Classic television.

Processing loss while maintaining connection to life and community

Events and activities that occurred on Tuesday, January 13, 2026

Dan in better days

The morning routine felt normal until I walked through the door at Imagine Coffee. Zelda's call came immediately—Dan had passed away the evening before. My good friend since the mid-nineties. Gone. We'd shared so many adventures and stories over three decades. He was likely the best bad influence I've ever had in my life. I spent time absorbing that reality, feeling the weight of it settle. When I called Sydne to test whether I could deliver this news to others, I didn't do well. The words wouldn't come right. I decided to wait.

Jim Cole was the only person who showed up for SESIG. We talked about dealing with death for a while—how it lands, how we process it, what it means to lose someone. Then the conversation shifted to photography, specifically images with multiple specific points of focus and what the implications might be for visual storytelling. The technical discussion offered a kind of respite, a way to stay engaged with the world while holding grief.

Out in the car in Imagine Coffee's parking lot, I made the calls I needed to make. Late morning, around ten. Loni. Other close friends who knew Dan. It came easier by then—not easy, but easier. The words found their shape. Throughout the day, expressions of support arrived from people who knew that Dan and I were good friends. A text from my granddaughter particularly touched me. Sweet and genuine. It meant a lot.

On my way home from Imagine Coffee, I tried to find the OSU ticket office to sort out Friday night's gymnastics tickets, but no obvious location presented itself from the street. I should have called when I got home but forgot. The afternoon was consumed by the photo library—when I'd last moved it, the person identification information had been lost. I spent hours rebuilding a portion of that system. It's better now, though not complete. But complete enough—I eventually found pictures of Dan.

Later in the day, I returned to the daily workflows, making a few refinements to the process. Then I walked to Monday Suds. Tim arrived shortly after I did. Aurora was bartending. I had a nice chat with Aaron during his end-of-shift beer. The Corvallis Burner group happened to be meeting there, so I hung out with them for a while. The gathering felt right—community showing up, people being present with each other, the kind of connection that matters when loss reminds you of life's fragility. Tim gave me a ride home.

The evening's television provided gentle distraction. Hogan's Heroes Season 6 seems less compelling than earlier seasons, so I switched to The Outer Limits, then caught a bit of The Late Show before sleep.

Loss sharpens awareness of what remains. The expressions of support, the conversations that hold both grief and normalcy, the community that gathers without needing explanation—these are the threads that sustain us when friendship ends and memory begins.