Oliver Timothy Agan

Oliver Timothy Agan June 25, 2009 to November 6, 2026

Heaven just got a little rowdier, and just a bit sweeter. Like a whirlwind, on a warm June day, Oliver arrived four weeks early, in a hurry to begin. It was June 25, 2009, the day the world lost Michael Jackson, and as sad as her mother was, she swore her unborn son grieved with her, and that is what helped him decide he was ready. Her water broke, but Oliver had decided to come on his own time, and the doctors had to coerce him. When he finally arrived, because he was so early, they worried he might need the NICU, but then there he was, eight pounds of chubbiness, loud and kicking and crying and already reaching for the world, and he never really stopped. He stayed in a hurry, and he stayed full of energy, and that hurry became the rhythm of the drum that he lived his life to. From the very beginning, that drum beat loud and proud and he showed it every day as a helper. He was still so little himself when he sat beside his sister Jordan, a small boy with a big spoon in his small hand, trying to help feed her because she could not eat on her own. He watched her face, patient and careful, and he learned empathy early, right there at that table, in the quiet work of loving someone who needed him. Helping others was not something he had to learn later. It was in him from the start, and it stayed with him, and it became who he was, the boy who noticed, and stayed, and reached out a hand.

When he was little, he could often be found sitting behind his mother's legs on the couch, the sweetest little tow-headed child, always hugging and kissing her, always close, such a little love and blonde just like his big sister Kaylan, that bright hair catching the light wherever he went. He and his mother shared a love of dinosaurs, photography and the Marvel movies, heroes on a screen and heroes in their hearts, and that same bright, fearless love, curiosity and a knack for finding a little trouble followed him as he grew. His big sister Brittany remembers him little and already daring, already caught in the act and proud of it. One day she found him up on the counter, that he had climbed all by himself, and found baby formula powder all over the counter. She asked him, "Oliver, did you get in the baby formula?" And he said, "Noooo," with powder all over his lips, as if the proof were not right there on his sweet little face. That was Oliver, climbing higher than he was supposed to, tasting the world for himself, and smiling through the evidence, adorable and fearless and impossible to stay mad at.

When he and his dad got his Camaro, he was so excited to take that thing everywhere and once he took his mom for the ride of her life, where she also feared a little for her life but he was so proud, to show her his freedom, to share his joy, and to let her see, for a little while, the world as he saw it, wide open and full of speed and sound and she is so grateful she took the risk of getting in what she calls "That damn Camaro", and boy would she give anything to take another ride in that car with her son.

He carried his unique ability to love into his great love for his sisters. He was very close to Kylie, since they were so close in age and their days together moved the way most siblings do, fighting over the TV remote one minute and playing video games together the next, fighting over what video they would watch to making dance off videos.....just like that, the fight gone and the fun back on!! Before Eli came along, they were often found doing everything together, baking cakes, fighting, coloring, fighting, doing crafts, fighting, jumping on the trampoline, fighting..... on the trampoline, two children in a world of their own making. He looked up to his sister, and to her boyfriend Isaiah, who had become like a brother to him, and like a son to his parents, and the house was fuller and warmer for all of them being together.

You could see who Oliver was most clearly in the way he loved his little brother, Eli, because with Eli his love turned into adventure, he was the cool big brother. Picture them out on the water in the cuddy of their dad's boat, the sun out, the boat rocking under them, the air smelling of lake and summer. all of a sudden, their dad calls out, "fish on," and Oliver jumps first, fast, hands on the rod, eyes wide, reeling and laughing. Then, within seconds, there is another fish on, and this time Eli grabs the other rod, and the two brothers are reeling together, side by side, pulling and shouting, not letting go, two fish, two boys, one perfect moment. That was Oliver. He did not fish alone. He fished with his dad, Eli and so many close friends. His father fostered such a love of fishing from a young age its how they bonded. Oliver wasn't just a good fisherman he was also selfless, Eli fell into the big pond while he and Oliver were looking for frogs, as brother do, and the water closed over him, and Oliver does not think, he does not hesitate, he moves. He gets Eli out. He brings his little brother back safe, dripping and shaking and alive, because that is what a big brother does. That is what a hero does.

At home, that same love turned ordinary days into games. On the couch, Oliver randomly grabs a pillow and starts a pillow fight, and Eli is laughing so hard he can barely breathe, so hard in fact he almost pees his pants, and Oliver was so happy because making Eli laugh is the best game there is. On the trampoline, Oliver often bounces Eli really high, up, up, up into the sky, and Eli flies and shrieks and loves every second of it. Those were not big days. They were ordinary days, and Oliver made them feel like an adventure for his brother, every single time. He was a daredevil with speed since he was young, and that fearlessness stayed with him as he grew. He got a four-wheeler when he was around 5-6 years old, and on the first day he drove it right into the only tree stump within a five mile radius of the house, flew over the handlebars, landed, and then got up and dusted himself off, giving his grandmother Shari a heart attack in the process. He was not afraid. He never was. He got up, he brushed himself off, and he was ready to go again. And he loved his Camaro. Oh, how he loved that car. He would rev the engine, loud and proud, and drive like a Formula One racer, windows down, music up, going nowhere in particular and everywhere together with his friends. It was no wonder the thing had bald tires and a blown engine in the first year he had it. He drove it hard because he lived hard. The Camaro was not just a car to him. It was freedom, and laughter, and being seventeen with his friends beside him, the road open and the whole world ahead.

He was very close to his father, and he even looked so much like his father, and their time together was woven through with water and woods and waiting. He loved to fish with his friends, his brother and mostly his dad, and every year they would fish in the Father's Day derby, sometimes winning, always together. They also would take yearly trips to Lake Ontario to fish for King Salmon, long days on deep water, rods in hand, laughing and waiting for the next bite. He truly loved that time they spent together. He loved to hunt with his dad too, out in the woods, at home in the outdoors, but he was hardly ever quiet and his father frequently mentioned he didn't know how he managed to shoot a deer because he was so loud. One day, during youth hunt his mother said he had to go hunting to get him off the TV and his video games, and 45 minutes later he was back inside playing games again. When she asked why he was not hunting, he said, "Mom, I already shot one." His father confirmed the story, with pride. That was Oliver, loud and fast and full of life, and somehow, he still got it done.

That loud, fast, full life spilled into everything else he loved. He always loved Spider-Man, Iron Man, and Captain America, and he carried a little of each hero with him, in his chest, in the way he moved through the world. Brave, when it mattered. Loyal, always. Ready to stand up for the people he loved, ready to jump in first. Oliver's nature was sweet and loving, through and through. He loved with his whole heart, and he loved out loud, in the way he played with his little brother, the way he always looked up to his sisters, in the way he laughed with his friends, in the way he showed up for the people he cared about. He was not a boy who held his love back. What you saw was who he was, kind, loyal, full of life, and quick to make an ordinary day feel like an adventure. Oliver had so many friends, and during the last few years he was often the one talking his friends out of ending their lives. He listened to them, he stayed with them, he told them to hold on. He loved them, and they loved him, and they knew they could come to him when it was dark inside. He was born in June, and June's birth flowers are the rose, for love, and honeysuckle, for devotion and lasting bonds. Both suit him. He loved with his whole heart, and the bonds he made will last forever.

Oliver was in great pain inside, pain he could not carry any longer. He died on November 6, 2026, at seventeen years old. His family is open about that pain, because hiding it helps no one. If we talk about it, maybe another young person will ask for help in time.

Holding his body after he died was indescribable. His mother held him, her boy, her baby, and she did not want to let go. Having to zip him up in a body bag, and carry him to the hearse, was a nightmare she will never wake up from. No mother should ever have to do that. No mother should ever have to say goodbye like that, to the little tow-headed boy who used to hug and kiss her all the time, to the boy who loved dinosaurs and Marvel and fishing and his Camaro, to her son. And no father should have to find their son in that state and have to break the news to his mother. It was a helpless feeling that no one should ever have to experience. It's raw and acute and they will never be the same.

For the teens reading this, in Oliver's memory, here is what his mother and father want you to hear. Stop worrying about fitting in, or looking perfect, or being cool enough. Go live, be you, do the things you love. Smile at people, it costs nothing and it matters more than you know. Enjoy the moment, it might not come again. If you want to try something, try it. If you want to go somewhere, go. Laugh out loud. Love one another, and you will never know what you will find.

We know Oliver loved his friends, and he would want them to make sure that they are living life, and living for him, because he now cannot. Live fully, for him. Laugh, love, go, try, be here, for him.

And if someone is bullying you, tell someone. You do not have to carry that alone. If you see someone being bullied, stand up for them, or tell an adult, or just be kind to them that day. A kind word, a seat at lunch, a text that says I am here, those small things can change everything. Be the friend you would want if you were hurting. Build each other up, do not tear each other down.

If you are hurting inside, please ask for help. It is brave to ask, not weak. Tell a parent, a teacher, a coach, a friend, anyone. You are not alone, even when it feels like you are. If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out. In the United States and Canada, you can call or text 988, any time, day or night. Oliver is survived by his Parents Marie and Timothy Agan, his grandmother, Shari Griffith, and his siblings, Brittany (Mike) , Kaylan, Kylie (Isaiah), and Eli, his niece Evelyn and nephew Mikey, his aunts Kelly (Scott) Whiteman , Brittany Bartlemus, his uncle Joseph Agan and cousins Jennifer, Morgan, Kagan, Carter , Steven , Charleigh, Jack, Chase, Barret, Charlie, and Kai, and many, many close friends. He was predeceased by his sister, Jordan, his paternal grandparents, James and Shirley Agan, and his uncle, Craig Agan. It was his wish to rest beside his sister Jordan.

Oliver, we love you. We miss you. Thank you for the laughter, the fishing trips, the pillow fights, and the way you loved us. You will always be our boy, our brother, our hero.

A wake will be held on Friday, November 13, 2026, from 3:00 to 7:00 PM, or later if needed, at Minor Funeral Home in Milton, Vermont.

A funeral service will be held on Saturday, November 14, 2026, at 11:30 AM at St. Anne's Catholic Church in Milton, Vermont, with a reception to follow.