They gather where he once sprinted under floodlights, not to watch him play, but to speak his name out loud and let their grief breathe. The memorial becomes a fragile bridge between what was and what will never be again, a place where teammates, coaches, and neighbors offer stories instead of statistics, presence instead of platitudes, trembling hugs instead of roaring crowds.

As specialists sift through tests and timelines, those who loved him choose a different work: holding each other up, listening without rushing, letting tears and laughter share the same space. In time, his legacy settles not in headlines, but in the quiet courage of those who carry him forward—on the field, in the stands, and in the small, sacred decision to keep showing up for life, and for each other, the way he always did.