Memories of Alex "Losha" Silchenko

Darya Silchenko

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Darya Silchenko

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TJ Haines

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Darya Silchenko

Losha,

Happy birthday brother.

You are one of a kind

Your generosity is inspiring. I hold dear so many gifts you gave me. Down to the raggedy Motorhead t-shirt from probably 8 years ago.

You gave your time in a way that astonishes me. The abundance of your time for those you love feels like a never ending river. You made time for your mama, your papa, your two younger sisters. Your cousins, your bros, your gals. Your uncles. Your aunts. Your energetic and sweet friends. Your coworkers. Your patients. Your grandparents - making sure you called them. You sang and played guitar for them. You came to every birthday party. Every holiday celebration. Every wedding. Funerals. Family gatherings. You loved your sweet Roxy and showed this dog an incredible life, and now she continues to feed that love back to us.

The mark you left is contagious. Each small movement I make is bound to memories of you. I see so much of you in myself, and there's so much more I want to see. Your passion. Your commitment. You didn't leave things undone. You struggled and you didn't let it define you. You overcame, even when sometimes you got down again. You came back up and better. You struggled because it was worth it. Life was worth it. After surfing together, I understood so clearly what gravitated you towards the sport. The waves absolutely beat you down, they take all of your energy, they destroy you. But then you get back up on the board, and you search again. And again and again. And it requires patience. It requires punctuality. Persistence. Precision. How I wish I could replay those days over and over again. I'll never forget watching you smile as you caught a beautiful wave at the end of the day, the sunset shining on your face. Your face outshining the sun itself.

You challenged me in so many ways. And you nurtured me when I needed it. I'm often angry and devastated that we should have had more time together. We had so much more in store. All that's left is to be eternally grateful for the time we did share. The way I see how so many people loved you, I am just lucky to have been one of the people loved by you. What a privilege it is to be your sister.

I will spend the rest of my life remembering you.

Thank you for being here. It wasn't long enough, but it was full.

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Diana Bak

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Olga Silchenko

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Roma Osi

Today we celebrate you, Losha

Happy Heavenly Birthday to one of my best friends. Not a day goes by that we don’t miss you, but today it hits a little deeper. We miss your laugh, your voice, your jokes, and the way you could walk into any room and instantly make it lighter. You brought so many smiles to so many people without even trying. Your heart was pure, your loyalty unmatched, and your presence unforgettable.

Heaven truly gained an amazing soul. As hard as it is for us here, I know the angels are celebrating big today. They couldn’t be without someone like you — someone who loved hard, gave freely, and stood by the people he cared about. I believe with all my heart that you’re up there watching over us, waiting for the day we’re reunited on the other side.

Your family raised an incredible human being. The love, strength, and goodness they poured into you showed in everything you did. You were a reflection of them — strong, kind, generous, and full of life. The world was better because you were in it.

We hold onto the memories — the late nights, the laughter, the talks, the brotherhood. Those moments are treasures now. You taught us to live fully, to love our people hard, and to appreciate every single day. Your impact didn’t end when you left this earth — it continues in the way we love, the way we show up for each other, and the way we remember you.

Until we see you again, my brother. Save us a spot. Keep smiling down on us.

Happy Birthday in Heaven, Losha. We love you. We miss you. And we’ll carry you with us always.

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Darya Silchenko

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Olga Silchenko

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Olga Silchenko

Happy 1st heavenly birthday brother bear. May the waves be extra, extra gnarly for you today. We love you so so much.

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Victoria Kostygova

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Victoria Kostygova

From Death to Life

In Loving Memory of Alyosha

March 1st — Alyosha would have turned 33.

Today I write these words in memory of a man I never had the chance to meet in person. I know him through his mother’s stories, through his father’s quiet memories. And through their words, he became real to me — with his smile, his character, his habits, and that special light that remains in people even after they are gone.

His memory is not a formality or simply a date on the calendar. It is the living presence of someone who knew how to fill a space with warmth.

Wherever he was, there was laughter. It felt easier to breathe around him. He had a rare gift for bringing people together — gathering his family, suggesting a trip to the mountains or to the ocean, inspiring everyone to move and explore. It came naturally to him, as if joy simply rose up around him. He created moments that later became cherished memories.

By his side was always his Doberman — a loyal companion on the road and in adventure. In those journeys, in his love for open spaces and nature, his character was reflected: open, alive, inwardly free.

There was a quiet maturity in him — steady and deep. He loved God not with loud words, but with faithful living.

He was drawn to wide horizons. To the wind, to movement, to the ocean. He loved surfing — catching a wave and holding his balance, feeling the rhythm of the water. He loved the mountains — their height and their silent strength. In these elements, you could see something of his own soul — free, grounded, and whole.

During the pandemic, when fear entered many homes, he continued to go where help was most needed. As a respiratory therapist, he stood beside those struggling to breathe. He guided treatment, carried responsibility for patients’ breathing, entered rooms where anxiety and fear could be felt in the air — and brought calm and steady confidence. His choice was simple and honest: to be where he was needed.

He lived with an open heart. And people felt it.

They were drawn to him. There was a warmth in his heart that could be felt without words. It drew people in, comforted them, and made you want to stay near him.

His passing was sudden. Water that seemed calm held a force no one could foresee. Everything happened too quickly for anything to be changed. For his family, that day became a dividing line between “before” and “after,” the moment when the familiar world shifted.

And yet, even in that silence, one thing became clear: death does not have the final word.

Scripture says:
“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die.” (John 11:25)

These words stop being just lines on a page when they pass through personal loss. They become an anchor when the heart must learn how to breathe again.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Each person has their own race. Some are given more years, some fewer. But the value of a life is not measured by its length — it is measured by its depth. What matters is how it was lived and what a person carries to the finish line.

Looking at Alyosha’s life, you understand that his years were filled with meaning. He left a mark — in the gratitude of those he helped, in the love of his family, in the hearts of his friends. He left behind an atmosphere that time cannot erase.

God did not put a period at the end of his story.
He continues to write it.

Perhaps now that story is deeper and more beautiful than we can imagine. We see only the earthly page, but with God there is no stopping — there is continuation.

Alyosha did not disappear.
He stepped from death into Life.

His story continues — in God’s presence, in eternity, in the hearts he once warmed with his light.

And so March 1st is not only a day of remembrance, but also a day of gratitude.
For his life.
For his love.
For the light that remains.

Forever 33.
Forever in God’s hands.
Forever alive.

From Death to Life

In Loving Memory of Alyosha

March 1st — Alyosha would have turned 33.

Today I... Read more write these words in memory of a man I never had the chance to meet in person. I know him through his mother’s stories, through his father’s quiet memories. And through their words, he became real to me — with his smile, his character, his habits, and that special light that remains in people even after they are gone.

His memory is not a formality or simply a date on the calendar. It is the living presence of someone who knew how to fill a space with warmth.

Wherever he was, there was laughter. It felt easier to breathe around him. He had a rare gift for bringing people together — gathering his family, suggesting a trip to the mountains or to the ocean, inspiring everyone to move and explore. It came naturally to him, as if joy simply rose up around him. He created moments that later became cherished memories.

By his side was always his Doberman — a loyal companion on the road and in adventure. In those journeys, in his love for open spaces and nature, his character was reflected: open, alive, inwardly free.

There was a quiet maturity in him — steady and deep. He loved God not with loud words, but with faithful living.

He was drawn to wide horizons. To the wind, to movement, to the ocean. He loved surfing — catching a wave and holding his balance, feeling the rhythm of the water. He loved the mountains — their height and their silent strength. In these elements, you could see something of his own soul — free, grounded, and whole.

During the pandemic, when fear entered many homes, he continued to go where help was most needed. As a respiratory therapist, he stood beside those struggling to breathe. He guided treatment, carried responsibility for patients’ breathing, entered rooms where anxiety and fear could be felt in the air — and brought calm and steady confidence. His choice was simple and honest: to be where he was needed.

He lived with an open heart. And people felt it.

They were drawn to him. There was a warmth in his heart that could be felt without words. It drew people in, comforted them, and made you want to stay near him.

His passing was sudden. Water that seemed calm held a force no one could foresee. Everything happened too quickly for anything to be changed. For his family, that day became a dividing line between “before” and “after,” the moment when the familiar world shifted.

And yet, even in that silence, one thing became clear: death does not have the final word.

Scripture says:
“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die.” (John 11:25)

These words stop being just lines on a page when they pass through personal loss. They become an anchor when the heart must learn how to breathe again.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Each person has their own race. Some are given more years, some fewer. But the value of a life is not measured by its length — it is measured by its depth. What matters is how it was lived and what a person carries to the finish line.

Looking at Alyosha’s life, you understand that his years were filled with meaning. He left a mark — in the gratitude of those he helped, in the love of his family, in the hearts of his friends. He left behind an atmosphere that time cannot erase.

God did not put a period at the end of his story.
He continues to write it.

Perhaps now that story is deeper and more beautiful than we can imagine. We see only the earthly page, but with God there is no stopping — there is continuation.

Alyosha did not disappear.
He stepped from death into Life.

His story continues — in God’s presence, in eternity, in the hearts he once warmed with his light.

And so March 1st is not only a day of remembrance, but also a day of gratitude.
For his life.
For his love.
For the light that remains.

Forever 33.
Forever in God’s hands.
Forever alive. Read less From Death to Life

In Loving Memory of Alyosha

March 1st — Alyosha would have turned 33.

Today I write these words in... Read more memory of a man I never had the chance to meet in person. I know him through his mother’s stories, through his father’s quiet memories. And through their words, he became real to me — with his smile, his character, his habits, and that special light that remains in people even after they are gone.

His memory is not a formality or simply a date on the calendar. It is the living presence of someone who knew how to fill a space with warmth.

Wherever he was, there was laughter. It felt easier to breathe around him. He had a rare gift for bringing people together — gathering his family, suggesting a trip to the mountains or to the ocean, inspiring everyone to move and explore. It came naturally to him, as if joy simply rose up around him. He created moments that later became cherished memories.

By his side was always his Doberman — a loyal companion on the road and in adventure. In those journeys, in his love for open spaces and nature, his character was reflected: open, alive, inwardly free.

There was a quiet maturity in him — steady and deep. He loved God not with loud words, but with faithful living.

He was drawn to wide horizons. To the wind, to movement, to the ocean. He loved surfing — catching a wave and holding his balance, feeling the rhythm of the water. He loved the mountains — their height and their silent strength. In these elements, you could see something of his own soul — free, grounded, and whole.

During the pandemic, when fear entered many homes, he continued to go where help was most needed. As a respiratory therapist, he stood beside those struggling to breathe. He guided treatment, carried responsibility for patients’ breathing, entered rooms where anxiety and fear could be felt in the air — and brought calm and steady confidence. His choice was simple and honest: to be where he was needed.

He lived with an open heart. And people felt it.

They were drawn to him. There was a warmth in his heart that could be felt without words. It drew people in, comforted them, and made you want to stay near him.

His passing was sudden. Water that seemed calm held a force no one could foresee. Everything happened too quickly for anything to be changed. For his family, that day became a dividing line between “before” and “after,” the moment when the familiar world shifted.

And yet, even in that silence, one thing became clear: death does not have the final word.

Scripture says:
“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die.” (John 11:25)

These words stop being just lines on a page when they pass through personal loss. They become an anchor when the heart must learn how to breathe again.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Each person has their own race. Some are given more years, some fewer. But the value of a life is not measured by its length — it is measured by its depth. What matters is how it was lived and what a person carries to the finish line.

Looking at Alyosha’s life, you understand that his years were filled with meaning. He left a mark — in the gratitude of those he helped, in the love of his family, in the hearts of his friends. He left behind an atmosphere that time cannot erase.

God did not put a period at the end of his story.
He continues to write it.

Perhaps now that story is deeper and more beautiful than we can imagine. We see only the earthly page, but with God there is no stopping — there is continuation.

Alyosha did not disappear.
He stepped from death into Life.

His story continues — in God’s presence, in eternity, in the hearts he once warmed with his light.

And so March 1st is not only a day of remembrance, but also a day of gratitude.
For his life.
For his love.
For the light that remains.

Forever 33.
Forever in God’s hands.
Forever alive. Read less From Death to Life

In Loving Memory of Alyosha

... Read moreMarch 1st — Alyosha would have turned 33.

Today I write these words in memory of a man I never had the chance to meet in person. I know him through his mother’s stories, through his father’s quiet memories. And through their words, he became real to me — with his smile, his character, his habits, and that special light that remains in people even after they are gone.

His memory is not a formality or simply a date on the calendar. It is the living presence of someone who knew how to fill a space with warmth.

Wherever he was, there was laughter. It felt easier to breathe around him. He had a rare gift for bringing people together — gathering his family, suggesting a trip to the mountains or to the ocean, inspiring everyone to move and explore. It came naturally to him, as if joy simply rose up around him. He created moments that later became cherished memories.

By his side was always his Doberman — a loyal companion on the road and in adventure. In those journeys, in his love for open spaces and nature, his character was reflected: open, alive, inwardly free.

There was a quiet maturity in him — steady and deep. He loved God not with loud words, but with faithful living.

He was drawn to wide horizons. To the wind, to movement, to the ocean. He loved surfing — catching a wave and holding his balance, feeling the rhythm of the water. He loved the mountains — their height and their silent strength. In these elements, you could see something of his own soul — free, grounded, and whole.

During the pandemic, when fear entered many homes, he continued to go where help was most needed. As a respiratory therapist, he stood beside those struggling to breathe. He guided treatment, carried responsibility for patients’ breathing, entered rooms where anxiety and fear could be felt in the air — and brought calm and steady confidence. His choice was simple and honest: to be where he was needed.

He lived with an open heart. And people felt it.

They were drawn to him. There was a warmth in his heart that could be felt without words. It drew people in, comforted them, and made you want to stay near him.

His passing was sudden. Water that seemed calm held a force no one could foresee. Everything happened too quickly for anything to be changed. For his family, that day became a dividing line between “before” and “after,” the moment when the familiar world shifted.

And yet, even in that silence, one thing became clear: death does not have the final word.

Scripture says:
“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die.” (John 11:25)

These words stop being just lines on a page when they pass through personal loss. They become an anchor when the heart must learn how to breathe again.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Each person has their own race. Some are given more years, some fewer. But the value of a life is not measured by its length — it is measured by its depth. What matters is how it was lived and what a person carries to the finish line.

Looking at Alyosha’s life, you understand that his years were filled with meaning. He left a mark — in the gratitude of those he helped, in the love of his family, in the hearts of his friends. He left behind an atmosphere that time cannot erase.

God did not put a period at the end of his story.
He continues to write it.

Perhaps now that story is deeper and more beautiful than we can imagine. We see only the earthly page, but with God there is no stopping — there is continuation.

Alyosha did not disappear.
He stepped from death into Life.

His story continues — in God’s presence, in eternity, in the hearts he once warmed with his light.

And so March 1st is not only a day of remembrance, but also a day of gratitude.
For his life.
For his love.
For the light that remains.

Forever 33.
Forever in God’s hands.
Forever alive. Read less

Darya Silchenko

❤️ so beautifully captured... Thank you ❤️ so beautifully captured... Thank you ❤️ so beautifully captured... Thank you

Alina Gleb

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Olga Silchenko

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Alina Gleb

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Alina Gleb

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Alina Gleb

2016

Firefly Music Festival

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Olga Silchenko

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Alina Gleb

Beach Camping

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Alina Gleb

2015

Lana Del Rey Concert

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Alina Gleb

We are coming up on Loshas first birthday in heaven. I miss him and think about him everyday.

He never missed sending a happy birthday text.

Losha was the kind of person who deeply cared about everyone in his life and it was very evident. On holidays or birthday celebrations, he always tried his hardest to show up- even if it was late/after work. And when he showed up, he lit up the whole room with his laugh and his humor. He truly was the funniest person.

Some of my favorite moments with him is listening to music together and going to concerts together. Back when we were kids, all the cousins would gather in his room, he would turn up some techno music, blink the lights quickly, and we would have a dance party.

I went to my first music festival with Losha, which is still one of my favorite memories ever. We met so many awesome people and had so much fun together, listening and enjoying music together.

We saw Lana Del Rey together in 2015 (one of my favorite artists). Losha and my brother decided they wanted to try to get closer to the stage for a better view and they sure did get a great view by climbing up onto the roof!!

An adventure was always a guarantee when you were with Losha.

From camping & hiking trips, to beach trips, gatlinburg, family get-togethers, concerts, and so many other moments in between, I feel blessed to have these memories to look back on.

Losha was one of a kind and so special. He is so deeply missed.

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Alex "Losha" Silchenko

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