My mind has been in a dark place for a long time now. Not the kind people notice. Not the kind people ask about. The kind a man learns to carry quietly while the world around him keeps moving like nothing happened.

Everybody still wakes up. Still goes to work. Still laughs. Still argues. Still worries about routines and little meaningless things. Meanwhile there are nights where I sit awake staring into nothing, feeling like time itself has gone cold.

I remember that day at the ranch years ago when I walked in and saw you laying there in the living room.

For about fifteen seconds, I thought you were dead.

And the strange thing about moments like that is how they break time apart. Fifteen seconds stops being fifteen seconds. Your mind starts trying to survive something before it even knows if it’s real. I remember the cold panic that hit my chest. I remember feeling my stomach drop into a place so deep I didn’t know a human being could feel something like that without collapsing.

I remember my mind trying to prepare itself for a world without you in it.

And I don’t think I ever fully came back from that moment.

Truthfully, maybe some part of me has been standing in that living room ever since.

And now somehow life has brought us back here again.

I think some part of me understands that the moment I walk into the room you’re in and see you laying there, everything inside of me that’s been trying to hold itself together is finally going to realize how real all of this actually is. And truthfully, I don’t know what happens to me after that.

That fear sits on me heavy.

Heavy in a way I don’t really know how to explain correctly.

And I hope that somewhere between all the silence that exists between you and I, you understand why.

The closest thing I can compare it to was those weeks Ari was first born and in the hospital. Sitting there watching somebody you love exist somewhere between this world and something beyond your reach. Feeling helpless while pretending to be strong because there’s nothing else you can do.

A man changes after moments like that.

I’ve had a few.

And changing is not our choice. That belongs to God.

I’ve been listening to Lost on You a lot lately. First time I heard it was maybe a week ago, and it felt like somebody reached inside my chest and finally put sound to something I could never explain correctly.

The song sounds like grief that never fully leaves. Like mourning while people are still alive. Like standing in the ruins of time realizing life moved faster than you thought it would.

That’s what it felt like.

And I just kept it on repeat.

Life has so many ways of reminding you that every person you love is standing closer to silence than you ever realized. And that thought has haunted me lately.

I know I’ve never been the easiest person to understand. And like you, I carry things inside me. Things only you and I will ever truly know. The kind of things a man carries quietly all the way to the end of his day.

The kind of pain that follows you into quiet rooms.

The thoughts that wait for everybody else to go to sleep before they crawl back out.

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 known how to say correctly. More than words could ever really carry the weight of.

Maybe one day I’ll forgive myself for not walking through that hospital door sooner.

Maybe I won’t.

But I hope somehow, somewhere, inside all the silence, there still exists that part of you that understands the things words and moments could never fully express.