Eighteen. Just a baby. Too young to leave behind only memories, too full of life to become a name spoken through tears. Aidan was supposed to have more—more years, more love, more time to fill the world with the laughter that came so easily to him.

Because Aidan was laughter. He was the quick-witted remark that caught you off guard, the joke that made your ribs ache, the kind of funny that wasn’t rehearsed but just was. He had a way of making the world feel lighter, of turning an ordinary moment into something worth remembering.

But he was more than just the laughter. He had a heart that stretched wider than his years, one that never hesitated to love, to protect, to care. He was the kind of person who made people feel safe just by being near him. He carried people with him, whether they knew it or not, whether he said it out loud or simply showed it in the way he loved.

That fateful day, the door closed behind him, the sound barely registering, just another moment in a million others. If only it had felt different. If only time had slowed, just enough to hold onto him a little longer. Just enough to say, Don’t go. Stay a little while more. But time is cruel, and it does not warn us when we are standing inside a memory we will beg to relive.

His family says if there were one more chance, one more second to stand before him, to hold his face in both hands and make sure he heard—really heard—the words that matter most:

"I love you, and I’m so sorry."

He loved his family above all else. That love wasn’t just a quiet feeling; it was something alive, something present in every hug, every joke, every moment he spent just being there. His mother would give anything for just one more of those moments—to watch him walk through the door, to hear him say, “I love you, Mom.” To hold him and never let go.

But love like his does not fade. It does not end. It lingers, in the echoes of his laughter, in the spaces he filled, in the hearts that will never stop holding him close. Aidan was bright, he was kind, he was everything - and even though he is gone, he will never, ever be forgotten.