Hell, I don’t want to be remembered as some saint in pressed slacks with polite stories and a framed photo gathering dust on a mantle. No. I want them to remember the chaos, the wild-eyed ramblings, the restless spirit that refused to sit still long enough for life to get boring. I hope they remember the smell of pine and wet asphalt on a long drive to nowhere, the sound of gravel under the tires, and the way the world cracked open when the light hit just right through the trees.

I want them to know I lived, not half-alive and scrolling through screens, but really lived. Out there in the rain, chasing sunsets like they were owed to me, losing myself in forests and finding pieces of truth in the lens of a camera. I want them to remember that every photo, every scar, every sleepless night under the stars was a love letter to existence itself, messy, loud, and unscripted.

Let them say, “He was a mad bastard, but he loved us fiercely.” That I wasn’t afraid to drag them along on this grand, impossible ride. From coastlines soaked in fog to mountain peaks where the air burns clean. Let them remember the laughter that echoed through campfires and roadside diners, the stories told at midnight when reason had already gone to bed.

If I’m lucky, they’ll remember that I tried to show them how to see the world, not just look at it. To understand that beauty and madness are sometimes the same thing, and that peace doesn’t come from comfort; it comes from standing knee-deep in the storm and smiling anyway.

I hope my family remembers that I was never chasing fame or fortune, just meaning. Just that flicker of connection between light and shadow. That I left behind more than words and photographs, that I left evidence of having truly been here.

And maybe, years from now, when they stumble on one of my old prints, a sunrise caught between fog and fury, or a lone road stretching into the unknown . They’ll feel it too: that pulse of wonder, that spark of madness, that whisper that says, “He saw it all, and he never stopped looking.”