Chris had a way of making the world feel lighter.

Not just with his laughter—though there was plenty of that. Not just with his smile—though it was impossible to ignore. It was something deeper than that, something rare. He carried kindness like it was second nature, wore compassion like it was stitched into his very being. Chris didn’t just exist in the lives of those around him; he made them better.

Seventeen years was never going to be enough.

He was the kind of person who knew how to lift people up, who could make you laugh even when you didn’t feel like it. He was selfless in ways most people never master in a lifetime. If someone needed something—someone to talk to, someone to sit beside them in silence, someone to just be there—Chris showed up. No hesitation. No questions asked.

He had his passions, his places of joy. Video games were his escape, his way of bonding, his way of being with people even when miles apart. He spent hours gaming with his father, Bradley, sharing victories, defeats, and moments of connection that meant far more than any leaderboard ranking ever could.

And he was going places. A bright future stretched ahead of him—college acceptance in hand, ready to step into the next chapter, ready to take on the world. He had dreams that deserved to be realized, moments that deserved to be lived. But life, in all its unfairness, had other plans.

Because he should still be here. Laughing. Gaming. Dreaming about the future. Filling rooms with his presence, lifting others up the way he always did. The world feels different now, less, without him in it.

Chris’s passing was a shock, a loss that still doesn’t feel real. But what is real is the love he left behind. The impact he made. The stories that will be told over and over, because a soul like his isn’t one that fades away.

Chris, you were so loved. You were so needed. And you always, always will be.