Losing someone so young, someone so close creates a kind of pain that never leaves you. I don’t just miss him; I miss everything he didn’t get to become or see me achieve. I grieve for the moments we’ll never share and the life he never got to live.

Sometimes, I still wrestle with “survivor’s guilt”. It’s a heavy shadow that whispers questions that have no answers. I try to tell myself there’s no fairness to life, that it doesn’t work like that.

Losing Tyko so suddenly on January 3, 2003 will never allow for any real closure – only a silence that grows louder as the years pass by.

It feels like Tyko’s story was stolen, and I’m left carrying fragments of a life that should have been. And yet, as painful as it is, I carry these shards of a life never fully lived because I have to, because remembering is the only way I know how to honor his smile, his laughter, and above all, his love.

If you really know me, you’ll also know that I am not a believer in any religion or quasi faith or floating deity. I try to respect that others find solace, joy and meaning in their faith. It’s just not for me. That said, as I get older, I have to admit that deep down in the dark depths of my consciousness, I keep a small fire burning for the unlikely event that when I do die, I will get to see Tyko again, hear his laughter and feel how the warmth of his smile once again touches my heart. Rest in Peace, Tyko.