Zachary Christian Mason, my little brother and only sibling, went home to be with the Lord. He was just two weeks shy of his 40th birthday.
This journey began with a “floppy foot” they said was nothing. But in September 2023, our fears were confirmed: ALS.
In our family, Lou Gehrig’s Disease was a shadow in the blood. My brother had lost the genetic lottery, pre-programmed for a battle no man is built to win. The internal wires snapped one by one, taking his walk, his hands, his voice, his breath. At 4 a.m. on January 30, 2026, this disease took the last thing it could - Zach’s final breath.
During those last moments - in the same room we shared growing up - I held the hand that once climbed bunk beds, played guitar, and rested on my shoulder as my Best Man. The songs from his album, “Memory Eternal,” whispered from my phone like a liturgy for the departing. It was the soundtrack to his transition. To look at him was to witness a cruel paradox: a mind as vivid as a summer garden, trapped in a “glass coffin” that had turned to stone. But Zach was the seed falling into the earth.
The prayer of Memory Eternal is for the Creator to hold the fullness of a person in His divine memory so they are never lost. It is the hope that Zach is gathered into the Kingdom of God, where there is no more pain, sorrow, or sighing.
At 39, Zachary’s stone coffin finally broke. He leaves behind a young daughter who carries his light. He did not lose this battle. ALS does not get to win. Christ has trampled down death by death, and He remains the ultimate victor over my brother’s life.
“Everything I want is in Your hands. Everything I need is in Your hands. Everything I want is in Your hands right here and now.”
May his memory be eternal, Zach.
You are loved. Healed. Held. Remembered.
