Some people come into your life and change it. Some people teach you lessons. Some people leave you with memories you'll carry forever. And then, every once in a while, someone comes along who saves your life without ever realizing they're doing it.
For me, that person was Alexa Jade Garrafa. My Lex.
I've been trying to figure out how to tell her story, because every time I start, I realize there is no combination of words that could ever adequately explain who this woman was to me. How do you explain someone who made you feel safe in a world that had taught you safety was something you couldn't trust? How do you explain someone who could make you laugh when you had absolutely nothing left to laugh about? How do you explain that someone helped keep you alive simply by existing?
I suppose you start at the beginning.
In 2017, I survived a heart attack. At the time, I couldn't possibly have understood everything that second chance would mean. I certainly didn't know that somewhere in my future was a woman named Alexa, whose friendship would become one of the most important relationships of my life.
If I hadn't survived that day, I never would have met Lex. I never would have heard her laugh, learned the sound of her voice, or experienced what it felt like to be loved by her.
And what a tragedy that would have been.
When Lex and I came into each other's lives, neither of us was living some picture-perfect existence. We knew what it meant to struggle. We knew addiction, mistakes, disappointment, and the exhausting business of trying to put a life back together when it seemed like everything kept falling apart.
But we also knew something about each other that a lot of people never bothered to see.
We were still worth loving.
Me and Lex got clean together.
I don't say that casually. Anyone who has ever fought their way through addiction knows how much it means to have somebody beside you who understands the struggle without needing a lengthy explanation. Someone who knows that your worst decisions aren't the complete definition of who you are.
Lex was my rock. She lifted me up when I was down. And I had the privilege of helping her rebuild, too.
I watched her work toward having something better. I was there helping her get out of that hotel situation, helping her get things together, watching her have her own apartment and a life that belonged to her. Those things mattered. Every little victory mattered, because I knew what they cost.
There is a picture of Lex in a graduation cap, holding a certificate of completion. When I look at it, I don't just see a picture. I see a woman who was trying. A woman who deserved to be celebrated for every single step she took toward the life she wanted.
And then there was the other Lex.
The hilarious, dramatic, larger-than-life Lex. The woman with that unmistakable personality, that fierce spirit, and the kind of energy that made everything a little more interesting. A woman who could be an entire reality show without ever needing a camera crew.
One of my favorite pictures is of her in pink with this enormous pink drink. Every time I see it, I think, there she is. That's my girl.
Not an obituary. Not a tragedy. Not a headline.
Just Lex, being Lex.
And she was so much more than the struggles she went through. She was a mother to her beautiful girls, Milliani and Zhuri. She was somebody's daughter, somebody's family, somebody's best friend. She was loved by people whose lives will never quite look the same without her.
I wish her girls could see her through my eyes for just a moment. I wish they could understand how much their mother mattered to the people whose lives she touched. That she wasn't only loved after she was gone. She was loved while she was right here.
I loved her when she was struggling. I loved her when she was getting herself together. I loved her when she was being ridiculous. I loved her when we didn't agree. I loved her in the middle of ordinary life, when neither of us had any idea how precious those ordinary moments would become.
And this is the part I really need people to understand.
Lex saved my life, but she never tried to be my savior.
She didn't arrive with some grand speech about how I needed to change. She didn't have all the answers. She was fighting battles of her own.
She just showed up in my life as herself.
She gave me something I had spent so much of my life searching for: the experience of being known without having to pretend I was somebody else. I didn't have to be perfect to matter to her. I could be a mess, and there could still be love in the room.
When you've spent your life surviving things that were supposed to destroy you, that kind of friendship can become the difference between giving up and finding one more reason to keep going.
She was one of those reasons for me.
And I hope, somewhere along the way, I was one of those reasons for her.
On February 23, 2025, Lex died. She was only thirty years old.
Thirty.
There were supposed to be more birthdays. More laughter. More ridiculous conversations. More opportunities for her to build the life she wanted. More chances to hear her say she loved me, and to tell her I loved her right back.
I still have a recording of her telling me she loves me.
Think about that. A human voice. A few words. Something most people wouldn't think twice about saving.
And now those words are priceless.
I've experienced a lot of loss in my lifetime, but losing Lex left me with questions that don't have easy answers. I've felt anger, regret, disbelief, and the terrible ache of wishing I could go backward and change something.
There are days when I wish I could have done more. Days when I wish I had been in a better place myself. Days when I would give almost anything to have one more ordinary conversation with her.
But I don't want the circumstances of her death to become the only thing people remember about her life.
Lex was so much more than what happened to her.
She was funny. She was fierce. She was imperfect and beautiful and human. She was trying to heal. She had dreams. She had people who needed her, people who believed in her, and a future she deserved to experience.
And if there is anything I want to accomplish by telling her story, it is making sure the world remembers the woman, not just the loss.
I've been through some of the most difficult experiences of my life since losing her. There have been moments when I haven't known how I was going to keep going. Moments when I've questioned my own worth, my strength, and whether the life I'm trying to build will ever become the life I believe I'm capable of living.
But then I think about Lex.
I think about us getting clean together. I think about the woman who was rebuilding her life while encouraging me to keep rebuilding mine. I think about everything she still wanted to experience.
And I think about how much she would want me to keep trying.
I believe she's on the other side rooting for me.
Not judging my mistakes. Not keeping score of how many times I've fallen. Just rooting for me the way I rooted for her.
I can almost imagine her seeing me make another mess of something, shaking her head with that personality of hers, and still wanting me to get back up.
Because that's what love does.
It doesn't stop being love just because someone isn't physically here anymore.
And I have decided that if I'm going to carry the pain of losing her, I am also going to carry the privilege of having known her.
That's why I keep writing. That's why I make music. That's why I want to build something called Lex Line, so that maybe someone else can get help when they need it most. It's why I continue asking questions, seeking truth, and wanting something meaningful to come from a loss that never should have happened.
I cannot give Lex the rest of her life back.
But I can do something with the rest of mine.
I can choose to keep fighting for the life she helped me believe was possible. I can keep trying to become the person I know I am underneath everything I've survived. And maybe, just maybe, something I create will someday help another person find the strength to stay.
Then her love will have reached someone she never even met.
And isn't that something beautiful?
Lex, if you can see me, I hope you know I'm still trying. I'm not always getting it right. Sometimes I'm still the same stubborn, complicated, emotional mess you knew and loved. But I'm here.
I'm still here.
And somewhere in that truth is a part of you.
You saved my life without ever trying, and now I'm going to spend mine trying to make sure your life continues to mean something.
I don't believe our friendship ended on February 23, 2025. I believe it changed into something I have to learn how to carry differently.
I don't get to call you anymore, but I can still talk to you. I don't get to hear you laugh in person, but I can remember how it felt. I don't get to hold you here, but I can keep you in everything I create with love.
And when I finally get where I'm going, when the music reaches people, when I find my peace, when I build a life I'm proud to call my own, I know exactly who I will be thinking about.
The girl who never knew she saved me.
I survived in 2017 so I could meet you. And I'm choosing to keep living now because knowing you helped teach me that my life is worth fighting for.
Until we meet again, my beautiful Lex.
You keep rooting for me over there.
I'll keep fighting for us down here.
I love you, Lex. Always.