Dear Dave. I’m sad since I have heard that the world’s without you now. Yet I didn’t feel entitled to write any lines for you before because we only shared our lunch table for about ten days in May, in the home that Æsa and Þráinn always offer us to come to when we return. But I am not only sad for the sake of some of the best people I know; the people who could not but grin from ear to ear every morning when you crawled out of your trailor – curious, provoking, but always with a loving blink in your eyes, determined to face whatever adventure the new day was going to bring. Had to bring, to be more precise. I am sad because you cared. You didn’t know who I was and where I came from, but you cared so effortlessly in a way that I find rare. I’m not an easy person to chat with, I’m aware of that, my head’s a rough place and I feel like the world has left me nothing to say. Everything has been said far too often. But you saw me, and you trusted me to get where I was heading to, not expecting me to be there already. Yuck, that sounds cryptic. But you would know what I mean, and I was so thankful for that.

Sometimes the gist of it all doesn’t lie in big stories. Sometimes it’s those things that go almost unnoticed that make a day better for someone. You were the last one who threw my girl in the air, because her dad never does. Then you hugged us, went off and left us laughing because Ella almost hit her head on the ceiling. You always aimed high, and you were prepared to die doing so; you would not allow anything to hold you down. You were, and still are, an inspiration for so many. So, thanks. For making a lot of days better. /A.