My Fallen Heroes

This page is here to honor the ones who gave pieces of themselves so that others could stand, heal, and find hope. My Fallen Heroes are the souls who showed up when life was darkest friends, mentors, loved ones, warriors in spirit who gave love, laughter, and courage even when they had little left to give.

This space is my way of giving them a forever place in the world. It’s more than remembrance it’s a promise that their stories, their struggles, and their light won’t fade into silence. They deserve to be seen, remembered, and celebrated for all they gave, whether they wore a uniform, shared their recovery, or simply showed up with open arms when someone needed them most.

This page is important to me because I carry them with me every day. And I believe the world needs reminders of people who chose compassion over indifference, service over selfishness, and love over fear even when it cost them everything. May these heroes inspire us to live braver, love deeper, and be there for each other in the ways that matter most.

May they rest in peace and may we carry their courage forward.

In Loving Memory of...

Tracy Carrico

May23rd, 1970 to December 1st, 2016

In Loving Memory of:

Lindsey Marlee Harrison

August 11, 1990 - 

(A Rhyming Tribute)

I never thought you’d go away,

Not this soon, not yesterday.

You were the one I leaned upon,

And now it’s hard to know you’re gone.

You lit the room with strength and grace,

A gentle smile, a warm embrace.

A mother fierce, so full of light,

Who held her babies close at night.

If I had children of my own,

I’d call you first, not face it alone.

You knew the way a heart should grow,

You taught with love, and it would show.

But life can turn with shadows deep,

And take the ones we swore to keep.

An overdose stole you away,

A cruel thief in broadest day.

Survived by those who loved you best—

Two daughters held against your chest,

Your brother strong, your parents too,

Still aching for the loss of you.

I miss you more than words reveal,

The kind of wound that may not heal.

But every day I hold you near,

In whispered thoughts and quiet tears.

And though you’re gone, your soul remains,

In stardust skies and midnight rains.

Forever friend, in heart you’ll stay—

I love and miss you every day.

In Loving Memory of: 

My Daddy...

Dennis Ralph Shelton

April 12th, 1955 to May 4th, 2004

My Father's Story

My father’s story is not simple, it is marked by love, by struggle, by unanswered questions, and by the lessons that only loss can teach.

He left this world too soon, at just forty-nine years old. His light burned bright, but brief, and when it was gone, I was left with grief, anger, and the ache of what could have been. The hardest part was not just his passing; it was watching him surrender before the end. He chose not to fight, not to battle his illness, and for a long time, I could not understand. I wanted more years. I wanted strength. I wanted him to stay.

But anger is heavy, and love has its own way of breaking through. Over time, I discovered that forgiveness is its own kind of healing. My father was not perfect, none of us are. But the love he gave, even in his imperfection, still runs deep in me.

He taught me that love is messy, that family is complicated, and that even when chapters feel incomplete, the story of connection remains. In choosing forgiveness, I found peace. In remembering him, I hold onto love more than loss.

Now, my father rests free from pain, beyond the reach of illness and sorrow. I trust that he has found peace in that release, and I carry that same peace in my heart. Though our story had distance, silence, and fights, it also had love, and that is the thread I choose to carry forward.

One day, when my own journey is done, I believe we will meet again, not just as father and child, but as friends. Until then, I live with his fire still within me, a reminder that even an imperfect love can leave behind an everlasting light.

A Poem for My Dad in Heaven

You slipped away quiet, too soon, too fast,
The years we were promised never did last.
Forty-nine candles, your light burned brief,
And left me with questions, with anger, with grief.

The hardest part, Dad, wasn’t just death,
It was watching you give up before your last breath.
No treatments, no trials, no battle you’d take—
I was furious, broken, my heart would ache.

I wanted you fighting, I wanted you strong,
I wanted more years, I felt robbed, felt wronged.
Why wouldn’t you stay? Why wouldn’t you try?
I shouted these questions into the sky.

But anger is heavy, it drags the soul low,
And love is the river that still has to flow.
Through tears and through silence, through nights I would weep,
I found in forgiveness a healing so deep.

For love isn’t perfect, it struggles, it bends,
It’s messy and stubborn, yet true in the end.
You taught me that people are flawed, yet still dear,
And letting go anger can bring you near.

So, Dad, though our story was jagged, not neat,
Though some chapters ached and some felt incomplete,
I forgive the surrender, I forgive the fall,
And I hold close the love that outshines it all.

Now heaven has you, where pain is no more,
No shadows of sickness, no battles to war.
I hope you found peace in that gentle release,
And I find my peace in forgiving, with ease.

So when I remember, I choose not just pain,
But the love underneath it, the hope that remains.
Though we had our distance, our silence, our fights,
I’ll carry your memory into the light.

And when my own journey reaches its end,
I’ll see you again, not just father, but friend.
Till then I will love you, imperfect, yet true, 
The fire in my spirit still comes from you.

Blake's Story

Blake Tivoli’s story is not one of defeat, it is one of courage, resilience, and the enduring fight of the human spirit.

When the world turned away, Blake kept showing up. Even in the grip of struggle, he walked into meetings, carried his shadows, and chose, again and again, to seek light in the darkness. Many overlooked him. Many doubted him. But those who truly knew Blake saw his strength, his humor, and the good heart that refused to disappear.

For eighteen months, Blake fought harder than most people ever will. He rebuilt his life piece by piece, earning every milestone with grit and determination. Each recovery chip he held was more than a token, it was a badge of his fight, a reminder that every sunrise brought hope, and that his story was still being written.

During that time, Blake laughed. He dreamed. He shared moments of joy and hope that remain treasures in the hearts of those who loved him. For a while, it felt as if forever had returned, like love and light had triumphed for good.

But recovery is not a straight road. The storm found its way back, fierce and unrelenting. One night, the weight became too much, and Blake’s journey on this earth came to a sudden close. His passing left behind heartbreak, questions, and silence, but also a legacy of resilience that will never fade.

Blake is not defined by relapse, nor by the night he left this world. He is remembered as a fighter. A brother. A soul who gave everything he had to live a better life. His story is proof that redemption is real, that courage can shine even through pain, and that love does not die, it lives on in the ones who carry it forward.

Today, Blake’s name rests with honor among our fallen heroes. He will always be remembered not for how his story ended, but for the battles he fought, the laughter he shared, and the love he gave. His spirit lives on, in memory, in hope, and in the hearts of all who knew him.

In Loving Memory of:

Blake Tivoli

In Loving Memory of Blake

When the world turned away, when the silence was loud,
When the whispers of judgment cut sharp through the crowd,
I sat by your side, though the struggle was deep,
I promised your secrets were mine still to keep.

You walked into meetings with shadows in tow,
Still using, still hurting, but still choosing to go.
Most people looked past you, they doubted your will,
But I held the belief that there was good in you still.

Through nights filled with heartache, through mornings of pain,
Through loss after loss, through the weight of the chain,
I saw not the broken, the weary, the scarred,
I saw the brave fighter with a soul battle-marred.

Then eighteen long months, Blake—you carried that flame,
You built back your spirit, reclaimed your own name.
Each chip that you earned was a badge of your fight,
Each sunrise reminded you hope held the night.

We laughed in the daylight, we dreamed without fear,
I cherished the moments I still hold so dear.
For a while, it seemed forever was real,
And love had restored what the darkness would steal.

But battles don’t end with a single refrain,
And sometimes the storm finds its way back again.
The shadows returned, relentless and cold,
They whispered of weakness, they tightened their hold.

One night was too heavy, too cruel, too fast,
And suddenly, Blake, you had taken your last.
The world felt much darker, my heart split in two,
I lost not just a friend, but a part of me too.

Yet your story’s not only the way that it ends,
It’s the courage, the laughter, the bond between friends.
It’s the proof that redemption can shine through the pain,
That even in falling, your fight was not vain.

I honor the man who kept trying each day,
Who stumbled, yet still sought a brighter way.
You are not your relapse, you are not your fall, 
You are the brave soul who once gave his all.

So I’ll carry your name where the heroes reside,
On a page for the fallen, with honor, with pride.
A brother, a fighter, forever you’ll be, 
Your spirit lives on in the best part of me.

And when others read here, may they always know true:
That even in struggle, I never gave up on you.

In Loving Memory of:

Marci Smith

For Marci

We didn’t start kindly, we clashed from the start,
But somewhere in time you slipped into my heart.
A sister, a confidant, fierce ’til the end,
You turned from a stranger into my best friend.

In St. Louis, I’d stay when the distance was wide,
And laughter would echo with you by my side.
You carried a mission, a calling, a flame, 
To lift up the broken, to call them by name.

You sponsored the women just fresh from the fight,
You showed them that darkness could still lead to light.
You listened, you guided, you gave all you knew,
Your own scars became hope that helped others push through.

For service was sacred, your passion was real,
Your strength was a shelter, your wisdom could heal.
The rooms felt much safer whenever you came,
And countless found courage by whispering your name.

But then came the stillness, the long pandemic years,
The silence grew louder, the world disappeared.
You still kept on meeting, your voice on the screen,
But isolation settled in places unseen.

And one solemn morning, the news broke the day,
That Cassandra had found you had drifted away.
Too soon, far too sudden, it shattered us all, 
The mighty, strong Marci had taken her fall.

Yet I will not end with the moment you passed,
For love like yours lingers, too fierce not to last.
I’ll honor the laughter, the lessons, the grace,
The way your kind spirit lit up every space.

I loved you, dear Marci, in ways words can’t show,
A bond forged in fire, too deep not to know.
Though sorrow runs heavy, though tears freely flow,
Your light is still burning wherever I go.

And when others read here, I hope they will see,
The gift that you gave lives on endlessly.
A warrior, a sister, a guide and a friend, 
Your story is love, and love does not end.

Marci's Story

Marci’s life was a story of courage, compassion, and service. She was more than a friend, she was a sister of the soul, someone who dedicated her years of sobriety to guiding others toward the light she had fought so hard to find.

For seven strong years, Marci lived in recovery. Each day she stayed clean was both a triumph and a gift, not just for herself, but for the countless women she helped along the way. Sponsoring newcomers was her greatest joy, especially those fresh out of rehab who felt unsteady on their feet. Marci was the steady hand, the honest voice, and the proof that hope was not just possible but real.

She and I didn’t begin as friends. In fact, at first, we didn’t even like each other. But life has a way of softening edges and building unexpected bonds. Over time, what began as tension grew into one of the closest friendships I’ve ever known. When I would visit St. Louis, Marci opened her home and her heart, making me feel welcome, safe, and deeply loved. She became family.

After the pandemic, life changed. Marci continued to attend meetings online, still showing up, still giving, but the isolation began to weigh heavy. The world had grown quieter and so had she. One day, far too soon, Marci’s journey ended with an overdose. It was our dear friend Cassandra who found her, a moment that shattered us all.

But Marci’s story is not defined by that ending. Her legacy is the seven years of strength, the hundreds of women she encouraged, the countless lives she touched with her honesty, humor, and fierce love. Her life was proof that recovery is possible, that service gives life meaning, and that even when the battle is hard, the effort is never in vain.

To me, she was more than a sponsor, more than a friend, she was a constant reminder of resilience, of loyalty, of how love can grow even from unlikely beginnings.

Marci is remembered not for the day she left this world, but for the way she lived in it: strong, compassionate, and dedicated to lifting others up. She will always be honored among the fallen heroes, not because she was perfect, but because she gave her all in helping others fight their way back to life.

Her light lives on in every story she changed, every woman she sponsored, and in the hearts of those who loved her deeply.

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