THOMAS ZIMMERMAN

The mountains still remember him. The way the tires of his quad pressed into the dirt, the way the trees stood witness to his laughter, the way the world felt a little softer, a little lighter when he was in it. Those long rides—just him and the person who held his heart—felt endless, untouched by time. They were simple, but they were everything. Moments made of quiet love, of stolen glances, of knowing, really knowing, that no matter what happened, their hearts belonged to each other.

Even at the end, when addiction took pieces of him away, one truth remained steady—he loved her. He always had. She knew it in the way he looked at her, in the way his letters came after every fight, full of words that tried to make up for the pain. She knew it in the way he used to be, before fentanyl took its hold. Before it stole the laughter, before it dimmed the light in his eyes.

"I will always love you. I am here. I was never your enemy. Please, please get help so we can have what we used to have."

Those are the words she wishes could have reached him in time. But love, even the fiercest kind, can’t always fight the demons someone carries. It can only try. And she did. She did.

To his grandson, he was Happy Tom, a name that fit him best in the moments when life was good, when he was the man he was always meant to be—kind-hearted, full of love, carrying a heart of gold. Now, that little boy looks up to the sky and whispers, "Good night. I love you, Happy Tom." Because love like that doesn’t leave. It doesn’t disappear just because a person is gone. It lingers in the stars, in the spaces where he should still be standing, in the hearts that refuse to forget.

Thomas was not just his struggles. He was so much more. He was a man who gave love freely, who found joy in the simple things, who left behind a love that still aches in the hearts of those who miss him. His absence is a wound that time will never fully heal, but his memory? That is forever.

Rest easy, Thomas. Your love still lives here. Your story is not over. And you will always, always be missed.