I’ll never forget riding up a mountain in Minersville, Pennsylvania, to visit Dave Boris’ grave. Dave was an Army captain and like a brother to me. While pedaling the steep incline, I imagined Dave riding next to me. When I finally got to the cemetery at the top of the mountain, I saw Dave’s dad, Al, standing there—and I just started sobbing. His father embraced me with a big hug. In that moment, I understood that I’d never given myself the space to grieve Dave’s death, and I got how sometimes you have to open old wounds so that they can heal. —As told to Robin Westen