BILLY “BOOYA” KIMLA

There are some people who aren’t just part of your life — they are the soundtrack. Billy was that. A walking playlist of weird songs, loud laughs, and moments that didn’t make sense until you were right there in them, with him. And then suddenly, everything felt like home.

If you ask his sister to describe him, she won’t hesitate. “He was fun,” she says — not just in the surface way people toss that word around, but in the deep, soul-anchored way. Billy made people feel good just by being there. He was loud, hilarious, full of weird ideas and weirder music, and somehow always exactly what the moment needed.

Her favorite memory? That concert. The concert. The last time they were all together. The kind of night that burns a little brighter in hindsight. She talks about it with a mix of joy and ache — how alive it felt, how complete everything was in that moment. “I’d relive that night if I could,” she says. “Every second.”

There are things she only shared with him. Inside jokes. Strange memes. Music so obscure it barely made sense — unless it was Billy you were sending it to. “I’ve been finding so many weird songs,” she says, “and nobody to send them to.” That’s the part that stings in the quiet. The empty spaces where he used to be.

And then there’s Peanut — the one who still searches for him. Ask Peanut, Where’s Billy?, and he still looks around like he might walk in any minute. Because in some ways, he’s never really gone. He left too much love behind for that.

His sister says, “I hope you know how much you are loved and missed. I know you are up there with Megan and Amanda.” Megan, his niece, left too soon — and she finds some peace in imagining them together now, still watching over everyone who’s hurting, still side by side. “We all miss you down here,” she says, “and I know I’ll see you again soon. You are my favorite homosapien.”

Her words don’t come wrapped in clichés. They come from the gut — real and raw. Billy mattered. He still does. And the way she carries his memory makes that clear. He isn’t some distant, softened memory. He’s still the one sending laughter through the family, still the heart behind the music, still her brother in every way that counts.

And through her, his story keeps going. Because love like that doesn’t stop. It just gets louder in the silence.

He’s still here in all the ways that matter — in the strange songs that pop up at just the right time, in the way someone laughs a little too hard, in the space he carved into everyone who loved him. Nothing about Billy fades. He’s just waiting on the other side of the music.