Damn, this is a hard day. July has completely leveled me as a person. I’ve never felt so battered by time, so worn out by loss. It feels like everything hit all at once — grief after grief, and just when you think your heart can’t break any more, it does. Losing my dad has been the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. And then Ozzy. The soundtrack of my life gone silent.
Growing up, my dad had Elvis. I had Ozzy. And somewhere along the way, we met in the middle. I made him listen to every Ozzy album I owned — he probably knew *Crazy Train* by heart whether he wanted to or not. And me? I could sing *Hound Dog* note for note. That was our bond. Music crossed the generational divide and made us laugh, made us sing, made us *us*.
July took my dad. It took Ozzy. It took Bobby Jenks, Sandburg, Hulk Hogan — people I knew, admired, or grew up with. Friends of mine lost their mothers and fathers, and I feel all of it. It’s too much. The day my dad passed, the one light I clung to was watching Ozzy’s final show in Birmingham. I didn’t know it would be *the* last. Just like I didn’t know the last time I talked to Dad would be *the* last.
Today, I saw Sharon Osbourne — the way she held herself reminded me of Mom. Strong, broken, forever loyal. Jack trying to be brave, just like me. A son without his hero.
And it hit me: This is how I want to live — like them. Like my dad. Like Ozzy. To be loved, to love deeply, and to give of myself so others smile. Nothing matters more than that. Nothing ev
er will.
