Greetings my lovely feral, dark, and bright ones,

Today, August 17, 2026, my brother Mickey would have been 52 years old.

He was born August 17, 1974, and died in July 2005, just weeks before his 31st birthday. Twenty-one years have passed since he died, which seems almost impossible when I stop and really think about it. There are people who have now been part of my life longer than the years I was able to have my brother in it.

But today isn’t about counting the years since Mickey died.

Today is his birthday, and I want to remember how he lived.

Mickey faced more challenges in his short life than most people will ever know. He was blind, deaf, and diabetic. At just 27 years old, he underwent and survived a triple bypass. Those are enormous things, and they certainly shaped parts of his life, but they aren’t the things that defined my brother.

Mickey lived.

He rode horses and four-wheelers. He absolutely loved Hersheypark and riding roller coasters. He loved He-Man, Transformers, and Spider-Man. He had a wonderful sense of humor, a huge heart, and gave the kind of hugs you remembered.

He loved life.

And he didn’t allow his disabilities or his health to keep him from participating in it.

Mickey went to college to become a computer programmer and graduated with a 4.0 GPA. Think about that for a minute. A blind and deaf man went to college to study computer programming and graduated with a perfect GPA.

That was Mickey.

He worked, too. In fact, he worked right up until the day he died.

When people hear everything Mickey lived with, it would be easy to turn his story into one about overcoming adversity. And yes, he overcame an incredible amount. But I don’t want his life reduced to a list of things he survived.

Because he was so much more than that.

He was funny. He was loving. He was adventurous. He was smart. He loved his superheroes and cartoons. He loved the thrill of a roller coaster. He loved wrapping his arms around the people he cared about and giving them one of those enormous Mickey hugs.

He wasn’t simply surviving his life.

He was enjoying the hell out of it.

There is something about birthdays after someone dies that feels different from the anniversary of their death. The day they died belongs to loss. Their birthday belongs to their existence.

August 17 is the day Mickey came into this world.

It’s the beginning of his story, not the end of it.

And although Mickey only got 30 years here, those years mattered. He mattered. The people who loved him still remember his humor, his heart, his hugs, and the way he approached life.

I still remember my brother.

I still love my brother.

And today, I celebrate my brother.

Happy 52nd birthday, Mickey. ❤️

I hope wherever you are, there is a roller coaster big enough for you, a four-wheeler waiting when you get off, and every superhero you ever loved somewhere nearby.

And I hope you’re still giving those huge hugs.

Happy Birthday, little brother. You are still loved, still remembered, and still very much a part of my story.