But as more and more news outlets began reporting it—confirming it—I had to accept the unimaginable
Diogo Jota, Liverpool’s number 20, one of my heroes, was gone.
Along with his brother, André Silva.
Both lost in a tragic car accident in Spain.
As a Liverpool supporter for over fifty years, I’ve long felt part of the big red family that stretches far beyond Anfield. We celebrate together. We grieve together. This week, we grieve. Because we’ve lost one of our own. And not just any player—Diogo was special. On the pitch, he was electric. Off the pitch, beloved by teammates and fans alike. Now, he and his brother have been so brutally and senselessly ripped from time.
It still doesn’t feel real.
To make the tragedy even heavier, Diogo had just gotten married.
Two weeks ago.
Now his wife is left behind, along with three children who have lost their father, and parents who have lost two sons. The weight of it is almost too much.
As I’ve tried to process it, my thoughts keep circling back to my own son—he’s the same age as Diogo. And I find myself asking the unanswerable: How does a family survive this? How do you hold on to anything solid when the world shakes you so hard?
I know nothing I say can bring them back.
But music has always been my way of dealing with the unspeakable.
So, I wrote a song.
It’s for Diogo and André.
For their family.
For all of us who are mourning in this strange, shared silence.
It’s my tribute, my farewell, my way of saying:
You’ll never walk alone.
Rest in peace, Diogo and André.
Forever in our hearts.
