I miss Levi every single day. He wasn’t just my son; he was my daily companion, my comic relief, and often my reminder to just laugh at life. At 19, Levi was at such a pivotal point—figuring out who he was and dreaming of what he’d become. He was all set to start college in the fall, and he was taking on life like it was his personal challenge. He had started budgeting his money (though it wasn’t too hard for him to save, considering he could sweet-talk me into buying him anything he wanted anyway) and was working steadily at Farm and Fleet.
Levi was also determined to bulk up. He hated being so skinny and talked about it with such dramatic flair that I couldn’t help but smile. “Mom, I’m basically a stick with shoes,” he’d joke, flexing his "noodles" in the mirror. So, he’d hit the gym, and before long, we started working out together. He took it seriously, mapping out his routine and proudly buying extra-lean protein to fuel his goals—always marking it in the fridge with a big “Levi” to make sure no one touched it. He was determined to build strength and confidence, and it was inspiring to see how committed he was to bettering himself.
Since Levi lived with me, our lives were inseparable. We talked or texted every single day—about anything and everything. Sometimes we’d spend hours reworking a text or response until he felt it was perfect, especially when he wasn’t sure how to respond to certain people. He’d share funny memes or send random updates about his day, always asking for advice when he needed it. He always sought me out when he got home, whether it was after school or work, to share what had happened. And he always started with the funny parts first, because making me laugh was his superpower. His laugh was infectious, and his smile was one of those that could disarm even the grumpiest of moods.
After catching me up, he’d move on to Balto, his dog. The two of them had this unspoken bond, and Balto would wag his tail like crazy the second Levi walked in the door. Tug-of-war was their ritual, and Levi never held back, cheering like a kid when he’d “win.” Once Balto was happily exhausted, Levi would hang out with his brothers, filling the house with their banter and shared jokes. And then, after all that, he’d connect with his friends. He managed to balance everyone in his life effortlessly, as if there were enough hours in the day just for him.
The house feels so quiet now. Around 4 in the afternoon, I’d hear the door swing open, the sound of his footsteps as he kicked off his shoes by the door, then the hurried rush of him racing up the steps to find me. It was that familiar rhythm, that little burst of energy, that always let me know he was home. Followed by his voice calling, “Mom, where are you?” I still check my phone sometimes, hoping for one of his random texts. And nights? They’re even harder. I’d give anything to hear him rattling around in the kitchen again, banging cabinets like he didn’t know where anything was (even though he lived here his whole life). Or to see him barge into my room without knocking, flopping onto my bed like he owned the place, and immediately putting on Cutthroat Kitchen.
He was such a big presence—funny, loving, and full of life. And now that he’s gone, it feels like a piece of the world has gone dim. But when I think about him, I can’t help but smile through the tears. Levi was the kind of person who made life brighter just by being in it. Everyone who met him loved him—he had a way of connecting with people, making them feel seen and valued. His humor, his laugh, his endless love for his family—those are the things I miss the most. I’d give anything, absolutely anything, to have all of it back—his noise, his jokes, his texts. The world feels emptier without him, and I’d give anything to have his physical presence back in my life.
Levi, you are missed more than words can express, and you’ll forever be in my heart.
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