Tomorrow marks eleven years since I lost my best friend, Danny Eiler. He passed away on August 25, 2014, at Emory Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. And even now, not a day goes by that I don’t think about him — his laugh, his advice, his heart for ministry, and the countless memories we built together.

I first met Danny in April 2006 through his girlfriend Cassie, who had just started working at the same lumber treating plant in Ringgold where I had begun two days earlier. The first time I saw Danny, he was visiting Cassie at work. It didn’t take long for Jenn and me to become close friends with both of them. Thursdays became our hangout nights, but honestly, we spent time together most evenings. Danny wasn’t just a friend; he became my accountability partner, someone I could trust with anything.

At the time, Danny was doing youth ministry at a church in LaFayette, and I had the privilege of helping him with that work. Through him, I got to know his family — his mom, dad, and brother — and they welcomed me like one of their own.

When Danny and Cassie got engaged, it felt like a celebration for all of us. I’ll never forget the day he asked me to be his best man. We were riding in Cassie’s car, a Dodge Neon — she was driving, Danny in the passenger seat, Jenn behind Cassie, and me behind Danny. He turned around and asked me, and I was honored beyond words.

We shared so many milestones together. One of the sweetest was when Jenn and I got Liberty, our miniature dachshund, and all four of us were there for it. Liberty became part of our little circle. Sadly, today — August 24 — marks five years since we lost her. It’s hard not to feel the weight of both losses this time of year.

Danny and Cassie’s first son, Cade, was born in June 2008, just ten months after their wedding. I remember the exact moment they told us they were expecting. Jenn and I were driving south on I-75 to visit family when both our phones rang — Cassie called Jenn, and Danny called me. We pulled off near Calhoun, and while they didn’t say it outright, Danny kept calling me “Uncle Matt” and Cassie kept calling Jenn “Aunt Jenn.” We figured it out pretty quickly. Cade was the first child among the four of us, and for a long time, it was just the five of us — Cade included. We took trips together, shared holidays, and Cade felt like a son to Jenn and me.

When Cade was born at the hospital in Ft. Oglethorpe, Jenn and I rushed over to be there. It was only a few miles from our home. Later, when Danny joined The Springs Church in Ringgold to lead youth ministry, Jenn and I followed. Not long after, Danny became the pastor of the church. Watching him grow into that role was inspiring. He had a gift — not just for preaching, but for connecting, for listening, for leading with humility.

In 2012, Jenn and I welcomed our daughter Julie, and Danny and Cassie had their second son, Haddon, in 2013. Life was full. It felt like we were building something lasting — a community, a family, a rhythm.

But in 2012, everything shifted. Danny was diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML) — a form of leukemia that, while serious, was considered treatable. We were hopeful. I worked hard to find an organization that could help him get his medication at no cost. It felt like a breakthrough. But as time went on, the treatments didn’t work the way they were supposed to. Danny’s body didn’t respond. The storm we thought we could outrun was gaining strength.

Danny fought with everything he had. For two years, he battled bravely. And on August 25, 2014, he passed away. Jenn and I were with him when he took his last breath — along with Cassie, her father, and another friend. We stayed up the entire night before, knowing the end was near. At 4:30 AM, early Monday morning, Cassie’s father was reading from Romans 8, and the verse that carried us through was Romans 8:18:

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

It was a sacred moment—a painful one. But also filled with peace.

Two years later, almost to the day, Jenn and I welcomed our second daughter, Caroline, born on August 26, 2016. Her arrival felt like a quiet gift — a reminder that life continues, even after the deepest loss. That joy can still find its way through the cracks of grief.

And just this past June, I got to share something special with Cade — we went to a Dave Matthews Band concert together in Atlanta. Danny and I had always talked about going, but never got the chance. Sharing that moment with Cade felt like honoring Danny in the best way possible. The music, the memories, the connection — it was all there.

As for Cassie, she’s doing well. She’s now a special education teacher at an elementary school here in town, pouring her heart into the next generation. And in June 2021, she married a wonderful man named Jared. Seeing her find happiness again has been a quiet comfort — a reminder that healing doesn’t erase the past, but it can build something new on top of it.

Danny wasn’t just my best friend. He was a brother, a mentor, a fellow traveler in faith. His life left a mark on mine that will never fade. And while I wish we had more time, I’m grateful for every moment we shared.

I carry him with me — in my teaching, in my parenting, in my faith. And I’ll keep telling his story, because he deserves to be remembered.