The day Dustin came home from the hospital, the world got a little brighter. He was small, perfect, cradled in the arms of a family who had been waiting for him long before he ever took his first breath. That was the kind of love he was born into—the kind that wrapped around him, fierce and unshakable, the kind that made a house feel like a home just because he was in it.

Seventeen years later, that love is still here, just as fierce, just as unshakable. But now, it exists in heartbreak, in memories too precious to touch, in the unbearable weight of what should have been.

Dustin wasn’t just loved—he was adored. He was the kind of person you couldn’t help but gravitate toward, the kind who made life feel lighter, funnier, better. He had this effortless way of pulling people in, of making them laugh even when they didn’t feel like it. He didn’t just light up a room—he was the light. A little bit mischievous, a little bit wild, but with a heart so big, it couldn’t help but leave a mark on everyone lucky enough to know him.

And he was gifted. He didn’t just play sports—he owned them. Strength and speed came easy to him, but it was his drive that set him apart. He was relentless, unstoppable, the kind of athlete people talked about long after the game was over. It was never just about winning—it was about the way he made people feel when they watched him. Like they were witnessing something rare, something special, something his.

He should still be here. He should still be cracking jokes, walking into rooms with that infectious energy, chasing dreams that were just beginning to unfold. He should still be throwing a ball, running full speed toward a future that had no limits. He should still be home, laughing with his family, being the little brother who could drive them crazy one second and melt their hearts the next.

Instead, the world was robbed of him. A life so beautiful, so full, stolen in an instant by something unseen, something silent, something deadly. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It wasn’t supposed to end at all.

If his sister could have just one more moment, she wouldn’t waste a second. She would hold him tighter, love him harder, tell him everything that now lives as an ache in her chest.

"I love you. Thank you for being the best little brother a girl could ever have. I would choose every hardship, every difficult moment, if it meant having you here with us again."

But love doesn’t die, not even when life is cut unfairly short. It stays, pulsing in the spaces he left behind, echoing in the stories that will be told for years to come. It lives in the people who carry him forward, in the laughter that refuses to fade, in the undeniable truth that Dustin Wyatt Anderton was here—and he mattered.

He is not forgotten. He never will be.

He is loved. Now, forever, always.