The first time she ever held him, she knew—this was love in its purest form. A love so deep it rewrote the very meaning of existence. A love that made time feel small and fleeting, something to hold onto as tightly as possible.

Chace had a heart that stretched far beyond himself. He was giving in a way that wasn’t performative, wasn’t done for show—it was just who he was. If he had it to give, it was yours. His kindness, his time, his love, his steady presence. He was the kind of man who made the world feel less cruel just by being in it.

His smile was unforgettable. It wasn’t just something you saw—it was something you felt. The kind of smile that softened even the hardest days, the kind that reminded you, even in the chaos, that there was still good in the world. And it came from him.

If there was one moment to live again, it would be the day he graduated boot camp. The pride, the strength in his eyes, the way he stood a little taller that day. The weight of all he had overcome, of all he had worked for, finally settling into something real. His mother would go back in an instant, just to see that smile again, just to stand beside him in that moment and soak in the light of who he was.

And if she had just one more chance—one more second to make sure he heard her—she knows exactly what she would say:

"I love you more than life."

Because she does. Because she always has. Because there is no version of the world where that love does not exist, where it does not stretch beyond time, beyond loss, beyond even death itself.

Chace should still be here. Laughing, loving, giving the way he always did. But love like his doesn’t disappear. It lingers, woven into the fabric of the lives he touched, in the spaces he filled, in the hearts that will never stop missing him.

"My beautiful son had the most beautiful smile and the most tender heart. And he is so, so dearly missed."