Fifty-two years of love, chaos, and unwavering devotion—forty of them spent as husband and wife. How do you sum up a lifetime of shared breaths, battles, laughter, and heartbreak? How do you put into words what it means to be tethered to someone so completely that even in their absence, they feel closer than ever?
Ozzy was never just my husband. He was the storm that shook me and the shelter that saved me. He was the fire that burned too bright and the warmth that kept me alive. We didn’t live quietly—we lived ferociously. Loud, wild, raw. We loved with a kind of force that didn’t ask for permission. And even when the world tried to pull us apart, we held tighter.
There were moments of madness, moments of grace, and so many in-between—quiet, sacred instants where no words were needed because our hearts knew the rhythm. A rhythm that, even now, still plays in the silence. It’s offbeat without him, aching and strange, but it’s still there. Still him.
He stood beside me when no one else understood the way we moved through the world. And now, though he’s gone, I still feel him everywhere. In the walls of our home. In every laugh that sneaks past the sorrow. In the songs that echo our legacy. In the memories that won’t let go—and I don’t want them to.
Happy Anniversary, my love. My once-in-a-lifetime. I wasn’t ready for the music to stop, and maybe it hasn’t. Maybe it never truly does.
So I’ll keep dancing. With the love, with the grief, with the joy of having called you mine. You were—and always will be—the greatest part of my story. My forever rebellion, wrapped in a
heartbeat.
