All of these photos were taken by Mowgli Miles.

About a week ago, I learned that a young man named Mowgli Miles had died.  He died suddenly in December, and the news was posted on the Lil Peep Reddit page. My heart sank.  I was struck by the kindness and tenderness Mowgli had shown over the years since my own son, Gus, died in 2017.

Mowgli messaged me on Instagram just two weeks after Gus died, introducing himself and sharing how he had met Gus.  He offered to send me photos he had taken of Gus—from both the Peep Show tour and the Come Over When You’re Sober tour.  He told me stories about Gus and how kind he had been to him.  Mowgli seemed to intuit exactly what a grieving mother needed to hear.  He never bothered with the “I hope you find peace,” or “He is in a better place” stuff. Instead, Mowgli knew that I would want to hear stories about my son.  So, he told them to me. He told me simple things — like how they had traded jackets and how Gus had told him to keep the plane ticket that had been in his jacket pocket when they made the trade. He told me how Gus had proudly repped his brand, Interracial Friends, by posting several photos of himself wearing the IF clothing Mowgli had given him. Mowgli "stopped by" to give me good memories of my boy—memories that described Gus with perfect accuracy.  It was soothing to hear how my son had made friends with this kind young man.

What means so much to me is that Mowgli did not only contact me one or two times after Gus died—he remained a friend to me.  Every so often, he would stop by to wish me a happy birthday or thank me for a post on Gus’s Instagram page.  One year, he wished me happy Mother’s Day, and commented on how sweet Oskar was, having seen my Instagram post about some flowers Oskar brought me.  During the COVID lockdown, we chatted about remote schooling, Fortnite, and some artwork he was designing to encourage people to wear masks.  One Halloween, he wrote to tell me that he had seen "a kid dressed as Lil Peep on the street" in his hometown of Denver.  "(He) had the temporary face tats and all, and even similar hair... I saw him from a distance, and it just almost brought tears to my eyes.  It was so awesome and out of nowhere."

Mowgli and I corresponded off and on for nearly seven years.  We exchanged texts and Instagram messages, but the last time we communicated was by phone.  He called me last summer (2024), distraught because someone he had offered to stay at his place had stolen some of his belongings.  What upset him most was that the person had taken something Gus had given him—an object of great sentimental value to him.  He was torn apart by the loss, and my heart broke for him.  I understood how he felt, but I reminded him that while objects could be stolen, the love and friendship he had shared with Gus could never be taken away.  We ended up talking for another two hours that night.  It was fascinating to hear about his life, his work, and his struggles.  I could tell that Mowgli was a deeply sensitive person who cared intensely about our planet and about humanity.  It’s rare to meet someone so deep, so passionate.  He reminded me of my own sons—vulnerable, passionate, and kind.  I felt somehow rejuvenated after speaking with him that night.

Now, I hear he is dead.  My heart breaks for his family—his mother, his father, his sister.  To lose such a unique and brave young man, someone who wanted so much more for humanity than he saw taking place around him, is devastating.

We have lost someone dear.  I feel the weight of his death deeply. We have lost him, but we will hold him in our hearts.  We will celebrate his achievements.  I will not forget Mowgli Miles.  He is someone to remember and to be proud of.