Today would have been his 53rd birthday. It's hard to believe that it’s been decades since Josh, my first high school boyfriend, tragically drowned in the St. Croix in August of 1990. The years have passed, but the grief of losing him—so young, so full of promise—still lingers, in quiet moments and heavy memories.
Losing someone young is different. It’s not just about their death; it’s about the future that was never lived—the “what ifs” that never have answers. I find myself wondering who he would have become, how his creativity and light would have shaped the world. He was a gifted soul—humorous, kind, and deeply thoughtful—and it’s hard not to mourn the endless possibilities that were taken from him.
But grief, I’ve learned, is more than just sadness. It’s the loss of potential, of unfinished business, and of the words we never got to say. (even thought I know WAY more about him now) At the time of his passing, I was just beginning to understand love and friendship, and now, years later, I wish I would have been better about telling him how much he meant to me. And letting him know that friendship was a great deal more important.
Yet even as the pain of his loss still comes in waves, I’m comforted by the legacy he left behind. His spirit lives on in the memories of those who knew him. The way he made others feel—seen, heard, important—is something that can never be erased.
Today, on what would have been his 53rd birthday, I remember him with love. I remember his laughter, the tenor of his voice, his creativity (I have one of his sketches in my office), and the way he brightened the lives of everyone around him. Though he’s no longer here, his light continues to shine in my heart, and in the hearts of all who loved him.
Happy birthday, my friend. You are missed, and you will always be remembered.
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