Earlier this month, David Monson passed away. The pain hit me immediately.

I met David in college. We lived in the same dorm and crossed paths several times. He was incredibly disarming. He would instantly make you feel at ease, significant. Still, years after college, I remember David as a kind person, friendly and funny. He was deeply smart and creative but also entirely unpretentious.

I hadn’t seen David in years. Most of my continued connection with him was through his wife, Liz—who herself is an amazingly kind and warm person. But my interactions with David left a real impression on me. When many try unnaturally hard to be impressive or cool or smart, David was himself. And his presence was enough to make you feel safe just being yourself, too. I think that’s one reason why his passing has hit me so particularly. He was someone who made you feel appreciated. He made you feel accepted, without having to say a word.

Over the past few years, I’ve lost so many incredible people: aunts, parental figures, friends. Each time I’m forced to reexamine myself and question if I appreciate the life around me, the people around me. Each time I think about memories and legacy.

David was full of life and kindness, two things that seem harder and harder to come by today. I refuse to let life be any less sacred than it is. I refuse to let kindness be conditional. Death and hate seem intent on washing over us, intent on making us numb. Death is in the news. Death is in our neighborhoods. Death is in our words to others. We’ve minimized life; it’s beauty and sanctity.

David was, to me, a reminder of that beauty. David was beautiful.