Growing up, my uncle Adrian was in and out of my life. Not by choice, but because of complicated family dynamics. As a kid, you don’t fully understand disabilities, you just know someone is different.

Adrian came back into my life when I was 26. That’s when I learned he had been abandoned by nearly everyone. He truly had no one, and he was asking to be part of my life.

From that point on, I spent the next seven years building a relationship with my uncle, who had very few people in his world. Our relationship wasn’t perfect or linear, but when we reconnected, I committed to being present in his life.

It started with a birthday lunch on November 9, 2018. From then on, I spoke to him nearly every week. He was always so excited to hear the voice of someone who cared, and he constantly looked forward to the next time we would see each other.

He always asked the same things, hoping for more time together:

“Hey nephew, can we have lunch again?”

“Hey nephew, we should celebrate holidays together?”

“Hey nephew, I wish I could live with you.”

I always wished I could give him what he wanted. But as I was just starting my career, getting married, and eventually starting a family of my own, becoming my uncle’s full-time care provider wasn’t something I could realistically take on. Still, I did everything I could to stay present in his life and hoped he knew how much he meant to me. I carried the hope that one day I would be financially able to change his situation. Losing him before that could happen is something I will always carry with me.

Adrian spent most of his adult life living in halfway homes. He was bullied, misunderstood, and moved constantly, cycling through more than 20 different homes. He spent many days riding city buses, wandering malls, or visiting the few familiar faces he knew. Over time, he grew frustrated with life and felt unseen.

Adrian was a gentle giant. He was autistic, kind, and deeply misunderstood. He loved throwback horror films, 80s rock and heavy metal, and classic movies like Revenge of the Nerds and The Terminator. He found joy in the small things most people overlook.

One of our favorite memories was taking him to a horror festival in Los Angeles. He was completely in his element. He met actors from his favorite films, walked through haunted houses, and experienced a day where he felt like he belonged. That night, he stayed over at our apartment. I’ll never forget waking up to see him on the couch watching TV, looking peaceful and safe. Moments like that meant everything to him.

In October, Adrian passed away unexpectedly.

We didn’t find out until more than a month later, when the coroner’s office contacted us. Adrian was an adult, and we were not listed as his legal next of kin, so no one notified us when he passed.

There are no words for the heartbreak of knowing he left this world alone, and then realizing how long it took for anyone to know he was gone.

Now, we are trying to do the one thing we can still do for him. We want to give Adrian dignity in death. We want to give him a proper burial or memorial and ensure he is remembered with the love and respect he deserved in life.

We are raising funds to cover the cost of releasing his remains and holding a small memorial in his honor.

If you feel moved to help, any contribution, share, or prayer means more than we can express.

Thank you for helping us honor Adrian.

In loving memory of Adrian.