The chapel fell silent as Bob Dylan slowly walked to the podium. No lights, no music—just him and his old guitar. He looked tired, like the years were pressing down on him. At the mic, he paused, bowed his head, and closed his eyes, as if saying something to someone long gone. Then came the first strum. His voice—raw, shaky, real—cut through the silence. It wasn’t polished, but it was full of truth. You could hear the years in it: the late nights, the wild roads, the deep bond of friendship. He wasn’t putting on a show. He was saying goodbye. To Ozzy. To a brother. To a time that was slipping away. When the song ended, Dylan walked to the casket, placed a trembling hand on it, and said softly, “Rest easy, brother.” And the room broke. No one could hold back the tears…
In a world where farewells are often wrapped in spectacle and scripted emotion, this was something else entirely—something ancient, sacred, and painfully human. It was […]
