Justin: One Year Later
Justin,
It’s been a year now. A full year since that Sunday when you took a nap and went to be with our Lord. And as this day comes back around, I keep replaying those last days — not because I’m stuck in them, but because they were holy. They were the kind of days that change a man forever.
I think about that Saturday all the time. You had energy, and we lived a whole life in one day. We got up and moved around like nothing was wrong. We recorded you singing in church — your voice steady, prayerful, full of that quiet joy you carried. We ate with friends. We laughed until we cried. It felt like God gave us one last day of everything you loved, wrapped in light.
And then that night, when the pain hit and finally passed, you looked at me with that clarity you always had and said something very loving and beautiful, which I will forever hold dear to me. You said it like you needed me to hear it, like you were handing me something I’d need later. And you were right. I didn’t believe it then. I barely believe it now. But you weren’t a man who lied, especially not in a moment like that. So I hold onto your words. I let them shape me. I’m letting them become true.
I’m grateful I stayed that weekend. You asked me not to leave Sunday morning to go play at Mass, and I almost brushed it off. I told you, “Of course I’ll stay when the time comes that you need me to, but that’s not yet.” But you insisted. And you were right. I’m so grateful I listened. I’m grateful I was there — not doing anything heroic, just being present, which is what you always valued most.
Sunday was gentle. Your dad brought your favorite food. We ate. You rested. And then you slipped into heaven with a peace that still feels miraculous to me. It was a beautiful death — joyful, quiet, full of grace.
I miss you. I miss you in ways that don’t fade with time. But the ache isn’t empty. It’s full of gratitude. Because you loved me in a way that was rare — thoroughly, honestly, without flinching. You knew me. Not the polished parts, not the version everyone else sees. You knew the worst of me, the wounded parts, the stubborn parts, the parts I was ashamed of. And you stayed. You stayed in friendship, in loyalty, in truth.
And Justin… I’ve grown because of that. I’m not the same man I was a year ago. Some of the healing I’ve done — the clarity, the peace, the steadiness — I owe in part to you. To the way you believed in me. To the way you spoke truth over me when I couldn’t speak it over myself. To the way you showed me what faithful friendship looks like. You left a mark on me that isn’t fading. It’s becoming part of who I am.
I carry your words with me. I carry your loyalty. I carry the memory of that last day — the laughter, the music, the pain, the blessing. I carry the way you looked at me and told me who I was. And I’m trying, in my own imperfect way, to live up to the man you saw.
Thank you for loving me the way you did. Thank you for letting me walk with you to the edge of heaven. Thank you for the gift of your friendship — the kind that doesn’t end, even now.
I miss you, brother. And I’m grateful for you. Always.
Peace be with you,
joshua
