It’s the concert they always come back to — that concert. One night, one place, one loud, chaotic, beautiful moment where everything felt right. Megan was there. Billy was there. The whole crew was together, hands in the air, laughter so loud it got lost in the music. None of them knew it would be the last time they'd all be in the same place, breathing the same air, alive in the same way.

Megan had never been to a concert before. That was her first. And now, in memory, it glows like stained glass — fragile and holy.

♥
“I wish we could go back,” her loved one says. “I was so thankful I got to take her.”

There was just something about her. She had this way of making you feel like you were the center of the universe when she looked at you. Not in a fake way — not in the way people try to make you feel seen — but effortlessly. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to love you right where you stood.

Holidays were her thing. It didn’t matter what the occasion was — if Megan was there, it felt like home. Christmas, Memorial Day, birthday parties, family cookouts... she was the light in the middle of it all. Loud. Loving. Usually laughing too hard at something nobody else caught. Now those gatherings are quieter, dimmer, and fewer.

“You’d be so mad,” her loved one says. “Family dinners are basically gone now. Nothing’s the same without you.”

It’s hard not to feel like something cracked wide open when she left. She passed the day before her loved ones clean date — and that timing cuts deep.

“You might’ve saved my life,” she says, “but I really wish I could’ve saved yours.”

That kind of grief doesn’t ever really leave. It just folds into the rhythm of daily life — shows up in the middle of cooking dinner, or scrolling through old photos, or hearing a song from that night. And when it hits, it hits hard. Because Megan wasn’t just a niece. She was more than blood. She was joy and chaos and fierce, fierce love. She held people together even when they didn’t realize they needed it.

Now, she’s up there with Billy and Amanda — and God only knows the kind of trouble they’re getting into. Three big spirits, loud and brilliant, still watching over the rest of the mess down here. And it’s comforting, in a way, to imagine her right where she belongs — side by side with the ones she loved most.

She is missed in ways words can’t hold.

And she is remembered in everything that matters: in the music, in the gatherings trying to happen again, in the way her family fights to stay standing, even when the ache is heavier than the day before.

Megan was the kind of person you don’t stop needing. The kind you carry forever.