Happy 35th Bro.

It’s been five years since my youngest brother’s death, a half-decade marked by a sorrow that seeps into every corner of life.

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.

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Today, he would have turned 35—a milestone never to be reached, a candle never to be lit. Instead of celebrating, I find myself staring at the past, haunted by memories that refuse to fade, juxtaposed against the ongoing tragedy of America’s opioid crisis.

In the small city suburb where we grew up, news travels fast, but it lingers even faster. The local paper once carried the stories of our childhood—soccer games, school plays, and the occasional honor roll mention. But now, it's the obituaries that catch the eye, a growing list of names who have fallen victim to the same ruthless predator that took my brother.

Fentanyl, a word that once meant nothing to me, has since become synonymous with loss. It’s a synthetic killer, lurking in the shadows, snatching away lives with ruthless efficiency. My brother was one of those lives—a son, a brother, a father, a fiancé—caught in the cruel grip of addiction. He wasn’t a statistic; he was a man with dreams, ambitions, and people who loved him. But addiction doesn’t care about shit.

The days before his death are etched into my mind with a clarity that defies time. He had been clean for a while, fighting hard to stay on the path of sobriety. But addiction is a beast that never truly leaves; it waits, patient and insidious. A fight with his fiancée—a woman he loved deeply but could not quite understand at times —was the spark that ignited the fire. He relapsed that night,leaving to stay in a motel, and that was all it took. Fentanyl doesn’t forgive. It doesn’t give second chances.

He was found on the side of the interstate, discarded like trash in the dead of night by a stranger. A fellow addict, too scared or too high to care, dumping him there to die alone. When I close my eyes, I see that stretch of haunting highway, desolate and unforgiving, the cold asphalt holding the weight of yet another lost soul.

In small towns like ours, these stories are becoming all too common. The opioid crisis that once seemed like a distant problem is now at our doorstep, maybe its been here for some time, and it's taken more than just lives—it’s stolen our sense of safety, our hope for the future. We watch as more and more young people are buried before their time, their potential snuffed out by a tiny pill that promises escape but delivers only death.

On this day, as I remember my brother, I also mourn for the others—those who have fallen and those who will. It’s a pain that spreads through our community like a poison, affecting every family, every friend, every person who ever cared. We are all left to pick up the pieces, to wonder what could have been, to wish for a world where addiction didn’t have the final say.

But today, on what would have been his 35th birthday, I choose to remember him as he was before the darkness took over. A brother who could make me laugh until my sides hurt, a father who adored his little girl and both his boys, a fiancé who dreamed of a future that never came. He was more than his addiction; he was a life worth living, a life worth remembering, a life worth celebrating. 

And so, I light a candle for him today, a small flame in the face of overwhelming darkness. It’s not enough to chase away the grief, but it’s something—a flicker of love, a symbol of the light he once brought into our lives. 

Happy birthday, Ethan. Love you baby bro. You are missed beyond measure and remembered always. 

"5yrs Gone"

Five years gone, and the wound’s still fresh,

Time passes by, but it don’t heal the flesh.

It’s a scar now, deep in my chest,

A reminder of the day you found your rest.

Five years ago, you slipped away,

In the dead of night, no words to say.

When we got the call, hearts sinking low,

That you were gone, just like that

— 

cold 

and 

slow.

I still remember that pain, the shock,

The way the world stopped, like a broken clock on

the dot,

Grief hit hard, like a wave on the shore,

Knocked us down, its always been The Boys, Four.

Now we're just left wanting more.

More time, more laughter, more of you,

More of the brother I thought I knew.

But addiction’s a thief, it takes without care,

Leaves you with nothing but empty stares.

Five years, man, and it still hurts bad,

Thinking ’bout the life you could’ve had.

The birthdays missed, the moments lost,

The heavy burden, the unbearable cost.

But in these years, we’ve all found a way,

To honor you in what we do and say.

We’ve faced the pain, faced the fight,

And through the darkness, we’ve found some

light.

Your memory lives, it breathes in us still,

In every mountain we climb, every hill.

You’re in stories we tell, the tears we cry,

In the way we remember, in the way we try.

Five years have passed, and the grief’s still there,

But so is the love, in every prayer.

We’ve learned to carry you, learned to cope,

Found in your memory a seed of hope.

So today, we remember, we honor your name,

We speak of your life, not just your pain.

Five years gone, but you’re never far,

You’re the light in the dark, our guiding star.

We miss you, lil bro, more than words can show,

But we keep moving forward, we keep trying to grow.

Five years, and it seems so far,

But you’ll always be with us, wherever we are.

In the wind, in the sky, in the quiet of the night,

In the way we live, in the way we fight.

Five years gone, but your spirit’s still strong,

And in our hearts, you'll always belong.

Happy 35th Birthday in Heaven baby bro. You're 

loved and missed more than you'll ever even 

know.