There are no words big enough, wide enough, or deep enough to hold the sorrow in my heart right now.
On August 7th, I lost my son, Brandon — and the world lost one of its quiet warriors. He wasn’t just my boy. He was a father, a brother, a friend, and the calm voice behind so many of my own storms.
Brandon never asked to stand in the spotlight. He carried strength in silence, and grace in the background — always steady, always watching, always making sure the people he loved were okay.
As a mother, you hold your child’s hand when they take their first breath… but nothing prepares you to hold it when they take their last. I did both. I held his hand, and I whispered words I’ll keep with me until the day I see him again.
The world knew Brandon as a talent manager, a leader, and for a time, a husband. But I knew him as the boy with freckles on his nose who used to run down the halls singing songs he made up. I knew the tenderness behind his stubbornness. The courage beneath his quiet.
He was 48 — far too young. There are things I’ll never understand. But I do know this: love doesn’t die. It changes shape. It walks beside us in the dark. And Brandon’s love… is still here.
To those of you who have prayed, cried, or simply held us in your hearts — thank you. In the days ahead, I’ll lean on faith, on family, and on the music that Brandon always believed in.
He told me once, “Mama, your songs heal people.” But now it’s my turn to learn how to sing through the pain.
