If only love had been enough. If only time had paused, just for a little while, long enough for one more hug, one more conversation, one more chance to say, please stay. If only.

His family would give anything to go back to the day before. To hold him longer, to feel him there, warm and real and alive. To pull him in and whisper every unspoken word. But time doesn’t listen. It doesn’t give second chances. And now, all that’s left is the unbearable weight of what should have been.

"I’m so sorry."

Dylan was light in a world that too often felt heavy. He was the kind of person whose laughter could break through even the darkest moments, whose presence made everything feel a little bit better. He didn’t have to try—it was just who he was. And now, his absence is felt in a way that words will never be able to touch.

His family doesn’t just miss him—they ache for him. The world feels different now, emptier. And the hardest part? Waking up every morning and remembering, all over again, that he’s gone. That this wasn’t just a nightmare. That this is real.

"Things around here have gotten so bad. I’m tired of burying children. It breaks my heart over and over when I have to wake up and remember what happened and how traumatic it was. Even if it is a close, close friend—don’t trust it. My baby brother did."

Dylan should still be here. His story should not have ended the way it did. But love doesn’t die with a person. It lingers, in the memories, in the laughter, in the spaces he once filled. It remains in the hearts that will never stop aching for him, never stop carrying his name, never stop loving him.

Dylan, you were so much more than the way the world lost you. You were light. You were laughter. You were love.

And you always will be.