ome people are born with hearts too soft for this world. Austin was one of them. A giver, a protector, a soul made of something rare—something pure. He carried love inside of him like a lantern, offering warmth to everyone he met, even when life did not return that same kindness to him. No matter how he was treated, no matter the weight he carried, he still chose love. He still gave it freely.

He was a Mama’s boy and made no apologies for it. He knew the safest place in the world was in his mother’s love, in the bond they shared, one that not even time nor distance—nor death itself—could ever break. To her, he wasn’t just her child. He was a part of her own heart, walking this earth. And now, that part of her feels missing, an ache that time cannot heal.

"I wish I could relive every day with him, from the first time I held him. I wish addiction had never touched my angel."

Addiction stole so much from Austin—it made him doubt his worth, made him question what was always true: that he was loved beyond measure, that he was wanted, that he was never beyond saving. His mother knows that now, he sees it. Now, he is healed. Now, he is wrapped in a love even greater than what this earth could offer, held in the arms of his Savior.

Still, the pain of missing him is more than just an absence. It’s physical. It’s in the weight of the air where his laughter should be, in the empty spaces where he once stood, in the longing for just one more hug, one more moment, one more day. Because there will never be enough days.

Austin had so much more to give, so much more life left to live. But the love he left behind is not lost. It lingers in the lives he touched, in the kindness he showed, in the memories that refuse to fade. His mother will carry him always, because he was never just her son. He was her baby.

And he always, always will be.