[ He appreciates John taking time to think it over before responding, and as John had thought, he waits patiently. He thinks he sees something in John's response, a doubt that he could find that strength in himself, and he responds without thinking, sure and certain. ]

So did you.

[ He sets his fork down. Harold doesn't believe in trite condolences like telling oneself tragedy at least made you stronger. That belittles the tragedy, paints it as something that had to happen, ignores the culpability of those who were responsible for it. But letting what hurt you, what broke you in some measure, become your strength... that part he understands.

The person he was ten years ago would hate the person he is now. Harold is sure of that. ]

Loss doesn't make us stronger -- I don't buy into so prosaic a narrative. But it's been an honor and a joy to watch you use skills that once hurt others to help them instead. I can't do this without you -- literally, practically, I can't.

You had to be who you were to become who you are now, to be capable of doing what you need to do. And so did I.

[ He had to once be idealistic to see now where idealism fails. ]