Alex Would’ve Been 22

Monday was Alex’s 22nd birthday.

Morning

Even writing that sentence still doesn’t feel real. A birthday is supposed to be a celebration. It’s supposed to be cake and laughter and a hug that lasts longer than usual — the kind you don’t realize is important until it’s gone.

Instead, it was one of those days where the air feels heavier the moment you open your eyes.

I woke up early and got on the bike. Not because I felt strong or motivated — but because I needed somewhere to put my mind. Training has become that for me sometimes: a place to hide, a place to survive the next hour. If I could keep my legs moving, maybe my thoughts wouldn’t.

The wave

Standing in the kitchen I saw the magnet with Alex’s school photo and I felt the wave gathering.

I went upstairs and broke down by the side of his bed.

I miss him so much.

The crash site

We met his mom at the crash site at noon.

We spent some time there — talking, remembering him, looking around to see if we could find any more of his belongings among the trees. There’s something about being in that exact place that makes everything feel sharper, like the world is reminding you this really happened.

The table

We went back to the house and just sat at the table remembering him.

That’s how the day moved: bike → kitchen → wave → bed → crash site → table.

No part of it was easy.

And still… it was his birthday. So we stayed close to him the only way we can now: with stories, with silence, with his name spoken out loud.