Pulled out a couple of old school Ozzy shirts on this day of mourning. Even after 35 years, this shirt still glows in the dark, I couldn’t believe it!!! On the day Ozzy is laid to rest, his light comes shining through by means of this T-shirt. I’ve always loved the little ghoul on the back partying on his own, which I attributed to not only Ozzy, but myself during my younger years going through the many issues that so many rebellious teens go through.

Pulled out a couple of old school Ozzy shirts on this day of mourning. Even after 35 years, this shirt still glows in the dark, I couldn’t believe it!!! On the day Ozzy is laid to rest, his light comes shining through by means of this T-shirt. I’ve always loved the little ghoul on the back partying on his own, which I attributed to not only Ozzy, but myself during my younger years going through the many issues that so many rebellious teens go through. Ozzy was my rock and outlet to get through so many of those tough and dark years. Unfortunately I was unable to get that little bad assed dude on the back to glow like the front of the shirt, so I guess, much like Ozzy, his light has burned out as well. Either way, so many emotions came over me putting these shirts on for the first time in decades…mainly because they don’t quite fit the way they used to. My condolences go out to Sharon, Aimee, Jack, Kelly, and all of the remaining Osbourne family. R.I.P. OZZY!!!!!! and thanks for the Legacy you’ve left behind.

Pulled Out a Couple of Old School Ozzy Shirts on This Day of Mourning

Today, as we lay Ozzy Osbourne to rest, I found myself reaching deep into my closet — not just for clothes, but for memories. Buried between concert tees and old jackets were two of my most prized possessions: original Ozzy shirts from decades past. One of them, a black and green classic from the late ’80s, still glows in the dark — still — after more than 35 years. I held it up to the light in disbelief, then switched off the room light, and sure enough… it radiated that eerie glow like it always used to. A supernatural moment on a supernatural day.

It felt like more than just fabric glowing. It felt like Ozzy himself shining through the darkness. That light, dim but stubborn, felt like a message. A reminder. A wink from the Prince of Darkness saying, “I’m not gone. I’m just moving into another realm.”

It’s strange how an old piece of clothing can carry so much weight, especially today. That shirt saw me through some of the roughest times in my life — my own era of rebellion, confusion, and heartbreak. I used to wear it like armor, feeling invincible as I blasted “Crazy Train” or “Diary of a Madman” on my battered Walkman. And the back of that shirt — God, I always loved it. A little ghoul, half-trashed and partying on his own, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was Ozzy, for sure. But it was also me.

That little ghoul was the symbol of my teenage years: messy, loud, full of fire, misunderstood, and dancing through darkness with middle fingers raised. That’s what Ozzy gave to so many of us. Permission to feel, to rage, to rebel. And maybe most importantly — to survive.

Ozzy wasn’t some polished rockstar molded by a PR team. He was raw. Real. A walking contradiction who sang about madness, death, and demons while also being heartbreakingly vulnerable. That duality — tough and tender, wild yet wounded — was what made him a legend. And why today hurts so damn much.

I didn’t know Ozzy personally, but like millions of others, I felt like I did. His music was in my room when no one else was. His lyrics understood what I couldn’t put into words. His voice carried me through breakups, family fights, depression, and even moments of joy. Ozzy was more than a musician. He was a lifeline.

So today, as I slipped on that shirt — the one still glowing after all these years — it felt like putting on a second skin. Like reuniting with an old friend. And as I watched the live coverage of the funeral, seeing Sharon and the kids standing strong yet shattered, I clutched the hem of that shirt and felt every tear. Every guitar solo. Every scream.

And it hit me — Ozzy’s magic wasn’t just in his music. It was in what he meant. He showed us that broken people can still shine. That demons don’t disqualify you from love, art, or redemption. That you can be wild and still have a soul. That even if you fall a thousand times, you get up again — messy, limping, but still moving forward.

That’s the lesson I’ll carry now that he’s gone.

I walked outside after the service ended and looked up. The sky was gray, heavy with clouds, but for a moment the sun broke through — just for a minute. And I swear to God, I could almost hear Ozzy’s laugh, that guttural, wheezy cackle that always made you smile. That was Ozzy — showing up when you needed him, even from beyond.

I’m going to keep wearing this shirt, maybe even more often now. Not just to honor the man, but to remind myself of the kid I used to be — the one who didn’t give up, even when life was hard. The one who found strength in a glow-in-the-dark ghoul and the thunderous power of heavy metal.

Ozzy may be gone from this world, but he’s far from silent. His music will echo forever. In our cars, in our headphones, in those late nights when the world feels too heavy. He’ll be there — whispering madness, love, and rebellion into our ears like only he could.

Rest in power, Ozzy Osbourne. Your light still shines. Literally — on my back, glowing through the darkness. And spiritually — in the hearts of every lost, loud, and loyal fan you ever saved.

We’ll never stop screaming your name.