Some people leave behind echoes—faint, fading remnants of who they were. But Beau? He left behind something deeper. He left behind love, imprinted in the people who knew him, in the lives he touched, in the two little girls who will forever carry his spirit in their eyes.

He was the kind of man who didn’t just work hard—he lived hard. With open hands, with a wide heart, with a presence that made life feel fuller, steadier, better. If someone needed help, he was already there. If someone needed a reason to smile, his would be the first thing they saw. His kindness was effortless, his loyalty unwavering, his love all-encompassing.

And then there was that moment—the moment he told the person who had loved him from his very first breath that he was going to be a father. You’re going to be a Grandma. A sentence so full of hope, of excitement, of love. If only time could rewind, to relive that day, to hold onto that joy just a little bit longer.

If his family could say one last thing to him, it would be this: You are so loved, Beau. They miss his smile, his hugs, the way his presence filled a room. They carry him with them, in every memory, in every story, in the love that will never fade.

Beau wasn’t just a man. He was a gift—one that this world didn’t get to keep long enough. But love like his doesn’t disappear. It lingers. It grows. It carries on in the stories told, in the memories held close, in the two little girls who will always know their father was someone extraordinary.