The Daily Grind: Luffy's Legacy - Roasting Through Grief ✨

Some months arrive gently. October 2025 didn't give us that option. On 10/10/25, we said goodbye to Luffy, our beloved German Shepherd. For over 10 years, he was our family's protector, companion, and gentle giant. He joined our family in February 2015, long before coffee roasting, this newsletter, or many of the things that now define my life. He was a constant, cherished presence, asking for nothing more than to be near those he loved.

My 28-month-old daughter shared two precious years with him. Two years of learning gentleness from a 90-pound guardian who treated her like the most precious thing in the world. From her birth, Luffy watched over her, never once barking. He was her silent, devoted protector.

Now, she waits by the window, by the door. "Dada, when will Luffy be home with us? He can nap here," she asks. She doesn't understand why her protector isn't returning, and explaining it breaks my heart every time.

This newsletter is different; it hurts to write. But it's also about how we navigate overwhelming grief, how we persevere, stay strong, and honor those we've lost by continuing to show up for those who still need us.

When Words Fail, Coffee Speaks

Three days later, on a gloomy Monday morning (10/13/25), I found myself at the roastery. The Bay Area's first fall storm rolled in, mirroring the heaviness in my chest. The timing felt eerily fitting: dark skies, impending rain, everything gray.

I was late, needing time to compose myself before I could begin. But I needed to roast. Not as a distraction, but because the ritual of what's familiar (the rhythm of heat, timing, and listening to the beans) is sometimes the only thing that keeps you grounded when your world feels shattered.

I'm incredibly grateful to Bryan, CoRo's Director of Operations, for her understanding regarding my lateness, and to Prestin from Flower Child Coffee for his empathy and for giving me extra time on the Loring S15. From one roaster to another, that meant more than words can express. In a moment when I could barely hold it together, having people who understood made all the difference. Cheers to many more encounters at the roastery, my friend.

The roasting room became my sanctuary that day. The cracking of beans, the scent of development, the muscle memory of countless movements. In those hours, with the storm brewing outside and tears likely mixing with coffee dust, I found a strange peace. Not the peace of acceptance (grief doesn't move that fast) but the peace of knowing I could still do this. I could still create. I could still provide.

The Batches: Strength in Different Forms

Arusha, Tanzania: The Protector This coffee's baker's chocolate richness anchors it, just as Luffy anchored our family. Dried fruit and date sweetness emerge with orange brightness, while hazelnut provides warmth. It's confident, steady, reliable, a coffee that consistently delivers, much like Luffy. He was fiercely protective of his home and people, yet beloved by many because beneath that guardian exterior was a soul that understood what truly mattered: protecting loved ones, especially the smallest and most vulnerable.

Totutla, Mexico: The Gentle Giant Tamarind's unique brightness meets caramel sweetness, with rooibos earthiness and cocoa depth creating something unexpectedly gentle despite its strength. This coffee reminds me of Luffy's powerful yet tender nature. The same dog who would defend our home with everything he had, who was territorial about his space, would lie still for hours, letting a toddler use him as a pillow. He never once barked at her.

Both coffees are roasted to a medium profile. Even in grief, I know my craft. Strength isn't about going dark and bitter. Strength means staying true to what's right, even when every fiber of your being wants to shut down.

Three Points: What It Means Now

When I started Three Points Coffee, I didn't fully grasp what those three points would come to represent. But sitting in the roasting room on 10/13, with the storm rolling in and my heart shattered, it became undeniably clear:

• Point One: Quality and integrity in everything you do, even when no one's watching
• Point Two: Showing up for the people (and animals) who depend on you
• Point Three: Giving back to make the world a little better than you found it

In Luffy's memory, we're taking action that feels right. From now until the end of the year, we're offering free shipping on all orders through our Shopify site. More importantly, we're preparing donations to local pet shelters, because somewhere out there, another Luffy is waiting to become someone's protector, companion, and family.

Being Vulnerable Is Being Strong

Here's what I'm learning the hard way: vulnerability isn't weakness. Admitting devastation, that I cried while roasting coffee, that I keep looking for a dog who's no longer here... that's not weakness. That's being human.

This past week, I've found myself drifting into mindlessness at stoplights, lost in thoughts of him. Then I'd look up at the blue skies with a few drifting clouds, and somehow that became the strength I needed to keep going. Those moments of simply existing with the grief, not fighting it, just letting it be while the world moves around you.

There's a scar on my right wrist. It's a reminder of a freak accident years ago when Luffy bit me out of fear, sending me to the ER. Even then, in that moment of pain and shock, my love for him never wavered. He was frightened; he didn't mean it. The scar became something else entirely: a subtle reminder of being relentless, of a high tolerance for pain throughout my life, of choosing love even when it costs you something.

That's what Luffy taught me: real love isn't perfect or easy. It leaves marks. It demands showing up even when you're hurt. It means understanding that being strong doesn't mean you don't feel pain; it means you feel it and keep going anyway.

My daughter needs me to be strong. My team needs me to be strong. My business needs me to keep showing up. And I will. But strength doesn't mean pretending I'm not broken right now. Strength means being broken and doing the work anyway. It means roasting coffee three days after losing your best friend. It means writing this newsletter when silence would be easier. It means being the provider my family needs while also being honest about how much this hurts.

Luffy taught me that. He showed me what it means to be both gentle and strong, protective and vulnerable, powerful and patient. For over 10 years, he was the best example of unconditional love I've ever witnessed.

Keep Going

I'm writing this as I drive back from CoRo in Berkeley, where we said our final goodbye. The drive that once brought him home now brings me home without him. My daughter waits by that window, looking for a friend who won't be coming through that door.

But here's what I know: Luffy would want us to keep going. He spent his entire life showing up for us, protecting us, loving us unconditionally. The best way I can honor that is to keep showing up too. For my daughter who's asking when he's coming home, for my family grieving alongside me, for this business that Luffy watched me build from the ground up.

So we roast. We create. We give back. We keep moving forward, even when it feels impossible.

What Three Points Really Means

When I started Three Points Coffee, the name carried a weight that most people don't know about. Our daughter (the little girl who's waiting by the window asking when Luffy will come home) came into our lives through IVF on the third round. Three attempts. Three points of hope. Three chances at the family we have today.

I grew up in a low-income family, in a neighborhood and city that didn't offer much in the way of opportunities. I learned early that doing good doesn't need a reason, doesn't need recognition, doesn't need anything except the choice to do it. That's why the donations to local pet shelters will happen quietly, funded by the profits from these roasts and from my own pocket. Because somewhere out there is a dog like Luffy waiting for a family, and somewhere is a family like ours who needs a protector like him.

Three Points has always been about giving back with love through our network, through the people closest to us, through the community that shows up. It's never been just about coffee. It's about creating something that matters, that helps, that honors the people and animals who've shaped us into who we are.

These October batches (Tanzania and Mexico) carry more weight than any coffee I've roasted before. They're proof that even on the worst days, we can still create something good. They're evidence that grief doesn't have to stop us from showing up. They're a reminder that the work we do, the connections we make, and the love we give all matter more than we sometimes realize.

Thank you, Luffy, for every single day. You were the best boy. Rest easy, gentle giant. We'll take it from here.

Caffeinated, heartbroken, but still committed to showing up

Simon