On Saturday, I lost more than a friend. It feels as though I’ve lost a member of my family.

I have known Lindsey Graham since I was in my 20s. I will never forget those early days when he first began campaigning for public office. I took him to South Carolina State University, where I had served as Student Government Association president. He sat in the president’s box, met so many of the people who shaped my life, including my family and my brother Kent, who would later become a South Carolina state senator.

From the very beginning, what impressed me most was not his political ambition but his life story. He spoke openly about losing both of his parents at such a young age and being raised by his older sister. There was a resilience about him that inspired everyone who met him.

Our family embraced him. My sister Mary Boyd welcomed him into her home, where we gathered around the dinner table, shared meals, laughed together and listened as he talked about his dreams. He loved the law. He spoke passionately about his service in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps. He talked about his faith in God, his love for South Carolina and his unwavering devotion to serving his country.

When Lindsey first ran for office, we held one of his earliest fundraisers on our family farm. Looking back now, those moments seem even more precious. None of us could have imagined the remarkable journey that lay ahead.

One memory from those early days still makes me smile. My brother Bruce, who has spent his life serving the Pee Dee as a master gravedigger, was talking with Lindsey on the family farm during the campaign. In a lighthearted exchange, Bruce asked him what he intended to bury first if he were elected. Without missing a beat, Lindsey smiled and replied, “The IRS.” It was classic Lindsey: quick-witted, approachable and able to make everyone around him laugh. Even now, in the midst of sorrow, I treasure memories like that.

Over the years, he never forgot where he came from or the people who believed in him. My brother Kent, as a state senator, worked closely with Lindsey to bring jobs, investment and opportunity to South Carolina. I honestly cannot think of another elected official who did more to help improve the lives of people in the Pee Dee region that I call home.

That is why this loss feels so deeply personal.

Even after he became one of the nation’s most influential senators, he never changed. Whether I saw him at an event in Washington or back home in South Carolina, he greeted me with the same warmth and friendship he always had. We didn’t have to speak every week to know that our bond remained strong. Whenever I asked for his help, whether it involved a constituent, a public issue or foreign policy, he was always there. He never forgot his friends.

His kindness extended to my own family. When my niece, Tiffany, was looking for a new opportunity, I asked Lindsey if he would give her a chance. He did far more than that. She became one of his trusted aides and served faithfully in his office for nearly two decades before eventually moving into private industry. For our family, Lindsey was never simply “the senator.” He was part of our lives.

Today, my heart also aches for the extraordinary men and women who dedicated their careers to serving beside him. They were more than staff. They were his extended family. I know they are grieving an unimaginable loss.

As I reflect on his passing, I find myself asking the questions we all ask when someone we love is gone. What is God’s plan? Why now? Why someone who still had so much to give?

Those are questions only God can answer.

Lindsey lived more than 70 years, but what matters most is not the number of years we are given. It is what we do with them. He lived a life of purpose, conviction and service. He loved South Carolina. He loved America. He stood firmly with Israel. Most importantly, he loved the Lord and never hesitated to speak about his faith.

His passing reminds every one of us how fragile life truly is. None of us knows the day or the hour. We spend so much of our lives planning tomorrow that we sometimes forget the gift of today.

Whether our calling is in government, business, media or any other profession, in the end, what will matter most is what we did for God, how we loved others, and whether we left the world better than we found it.

Today, I mourn a dear friend. I mourn someone who was woven into the fabric of my family’s life for decades. But I also celebrate a life extraordinarily well lived.

To those on social media who have chosen to celebrate his death, I pray that God forgives you. Death is the great equalizer. It should humble us, not harden us. Whatever our political differences, we diminish ourselves when we rejoice in another person’s passing. Compassion is not a partisan virtue; it is a human one.

Rest in peace, my friend. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your loyalty. Thank you for your friendship.

Until we meet again.

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