“For Ozzy – A Lifelong Love, a Final Goodbye”
I was six years old when it began.
Six years old when the thunderous opening chords of Black Sabbath cracked open a portal into a world I didn’t know existed — dark, loud, rebellious, and completely alive. While other kids were into cartoons and sugar cereal, I was hooked on something else entirely. Ozzy Osbourne. The Prince of Darkness. My idol.
From the very beginning, I said it out loud, over and over like a prayer: “One day, I’m going to meet Ozzy.”
Some people dream of flying, others of fame or fortune — mine was always Ozzy. Not just the singer. Not just the icon. But the man behind it all, the one who screamed through pain, laughed through madness, and always found a way to rise again. He felt real to me, like he was singing straight into my soul, through every twist and turn of life.
That dream — the one I spoke of as a child with absolute certainty — came true on January 21st, 2006, in Toronto. I still remember every single detail, like it’s burned into my DNA.
There were only three people ahead of me in line, but it felt like a lifetime. My heart was pounding. I could hear his voice — unmistakable, raw, magnetic — talking to fans, making them laugh. And then suddenly… he was looking at me.
He noticed my tattoo first — Ozzy, talking to me about my tattoo. Wild doesn’t even begin to cover it. That voice, the same one that sang “War Pigs” and “Mama, I’m Coming Home,” was now asking me questions and pointing to my arm. I was a grown man, but in that moment, I was a kid again, wide-eyed and floating.
When it was finally my turn, I was stunned at how present he was. There was nothing fake about him. Nothing staged. He gave a shit. He genuinely gave a shit. You could see it in his eyes, in the way he leaned in, in how he listened and laughed like we were old mates catching up after years apart.
He autographed my back that day — and the moment I got home, I had it inked in permanently. That signature is a badge of honor, a mark of one of the greatest days of my life. But it wasn’t just the autograph. It was the way he hugged me afterward — full-on, both arms, like he knew what it meant to me. Like he felt it too.
Ozzy didn’t just make music. He made believers out of misfits, outcasts, and the broken-hearted. He showed us that we didn’t have to be perfect, we just had to be real. He gave us permission to scream, to cry, to laugh, to live. His music was the soundtrack to our rebellion and the comfort to our sorrow.
So yeah — when I heard the news, it hit me harder than I could have ever imagined. It felt like the air got knocked out of me. Like something inside cracked wide open. I knew this day would come. We all did. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
This hurts. God, it hurts.
It’s like losing a piece of myself — the part that dreamed big as a kid, that believed in meeting your heroes, that found solace in the growl of a guitar and the scream of a madman. Because that madman, that legend, that soul — Ozzy — he was always there. Through every heartbreak. Every celebration. Every long drive or sleepless night.
Now he’s gone.
But here’s the thing: legends don’t die. Not really.
Ozzy isn’t just buried in the earth — he’s carved into it. He’s in every riff, every mosh pit, every tattoo inked with love, every kid who finds Sabbath for the first time and says, “What the hell is this… and why do I feel like I’ve finally come home?”
He’s in us — those of us who loved him not just for the music, but for the messy, chaotic, hilarious, brilliant man he was. The one who faced his demons in public. Who never stopped giving, never stopped performing, never stopped being Ozzy.
I look at my tattoo now — the one he signed — and it means more than ever. It’s a piece of him that I carry. A moment frozen in time, forever etched into my skin, and my soul. I was lucky. I met him. I got to feel that energy, that kindness, that mischief in his eyes. He hugged me. He saw me.
And I will never, ever forget it.
So this is for you, Ozzy.
Thank you for everything. For the music. For the madness. For the love. For being the realest of them all. You weren’t just the Prince of Darkness. You were the king of our hearts, and the voice of our lives.
You may have left this world…
But in our speakers, our memories, and our ink — you will never, ever fade.
Rest in Power, Ozzy. I love you forever.
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