Grief arrives quietly.

It starts creeping in through empty rooms, late hours, the sound of your own breathing when there’s nothing left to distract your mind. Then slowly it makes its way into the louder rooms too. Before you know it, it’s around you all the time regardless of where you are or who’s standing beside you.

I remember that day at the ranch like a wound that never really healed correctly.

Walking into the living room and seeing you laying there.

For about fifteen seconds or so I thought you were dead. Thank God I had already called your card before my mind completely lost itself. And fifteen seconds is a dangerous amount of time when a man believes he’s staring at death.

Something inside of me changed that day.

Permanently.

And now somehow life has circled back around to the same darkness again.

Truth is, brother, I haven’t come to see you yet because I know the moment I walk through that hospital door, the part of me that’s still pretending this isn’t real will finally die. And I don’t know what kind of man walks back out afterward.

That fear sits heavy on me.

Heavier than guilt. Heavier than words. Heavier than any judgment that could ever be cast on me.

The only thing that’s ever felt close to it was watching Ari laying in that hospital as a newborn when she was sick. Watching somebody you love drift somewhere between this world and something beyond your reach while you stand there pretending to be strong because there’s nothing else left to do.

A man changes after moments like that.

And if it were up to men, that would never be his choice.

I think that’s why God handles that part.

And as God would have it, a song that came out ten years ago found me for the first time about a week ago. It’s called Lost on You.

The first time I heard it, it felt like somebody reached inside my chest and translated something I could never explain correctly. The song sounds like mourning while people are still breathing. Like time collapsing underneath your feet while you stand there helpless gripping onto things already slipping away.

That’s what life has felt like for a while now.

And the older I get, the more time passes, the heavier the realization becomes that everything and everyone you love is standing closer to silence than you think they are.

That thought has haunted me lately.

Because in my mind, the force that has always been you felt permanent. Untouchable.

And maybe that’s the cruelest thing about life. It waits until a man finally understands what matters before reminding him none of it was ever promised to stay.

As a matter of fact, silence has been the only thing I hear these days.

I love you, brother. More than I have probably ever said correctly.

And I hope somewhere inside all this silence, there’s still a part of you that understands the things words were never truly built to explain between us.

Tables do turn and labels do burn. The second they ask you to sell your soul, don’t you fold. Say fuck that shit and be bold.