Today, Adam would be 45. Just like the number on the car he loved to drive so much. I miss him as much today as I ever have.
It’s hard to believe how much time has passed, and yet, some days it feels like he was just here — laughing, racing, dreaming out loud. That car, with the bold number 45 across its side, wasn’t just a machine to him. It was an extension of his spirit — fast, fearless, full of purpose. He used to say that on the track, everything made sense. Out there, he was completely himself.
I see the number 45 everywhere now — on signs, in passing, and every time, it makes me pause. It’s strange how something so ordinary can hold so much weight. It’s a reminder of him, of who he was, and who he was becoming. Birthdays were always special to Adam. Not for the gifts, but for the gathering — the people, the stories, the moments. He valued connection above all else.
What I wouldn’t give to hear his voice today. To see that boyish grin as he revved the engine, impatient to get going. He taught me so much — about love, about courage, about living fully.
Though he’s not here in the way I wish he was, I carry him with me in every step, in every mile, in every memory. Happy 45th, Adam. You were one of a kind, and you are still so deeply missed.
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