Braydyn McIlroy and his fiance, Destiny Sanders pose for a photo.

Braydyn McIlroy

Dimples deep enough to make your heart unclench a little. You could walk into a room furious about work, the weather, or the world, and walk out lighter because Braydyn had been there. He didn’t even have to say anything smart, though he probably would. Just flash that grin and say, “Makes sense,” and suddenly, somehow, it did.

He grew up in central Pennsylvania, where people still wave from their porches, and everyone knows where you went to elementary school. Bannerville. McClure. Beaver Springs. Beavertown. Each town still holds some version of him: the kid in hunting clothes that fit like tents, the skateboarder who treated curbs like starting lines, the teenager who turned up everywhere without ever needing a reason.

“When he was little, he always wanted to wear my hunting clothes,” said his uncle, Harold Benfer, better known to Braydyn as Uncle Dude. “No matter what we were doing, it was always Uncle Dude and never just Dude.”

That was Braydyn, loyal, specific, and affectionate in ways that snuck up on you. He didn’t shorten people’s names. He gave them weight.

At home, his grandmother, Mary Ettinger, can still see the index card taped to his bedroom door: Please Knock!!!

“He always wanted his sisters to knock before they came in,” she said. “It’s still there today.”

Little moments like that make it impossible to forget him. They’re frozen in the houses and hearts he left behind.

Braydyn graduated from Shikellamy High School and Sun Area Vo-Tech in 2022, where he studied precision metalworking because, of course, he’d pick something that required focus and patience. That same year, he enlisted in the Army. He wanted to see the world and serve something bigger than himself, and he wanted it bad.

“He loved the Army, and he wanted them more than they wanted him,” said his aunt, Crystal Benfer.

At Fort Cavazos, Texas, Braydyn became a cavalry scout with the 1st Cavalry Division. He trained hard, adapted fast, and shipped off to Poland for nine months as part of Operation Atlantic Resolve. He earned the NATO Medal, the Good Conduct Medal, and later, the Army Commendation Medal. His brothers-in-arms called him “Micky.” His family called him Braydy. Either way, everybody called him a friend.

He served. He traveled. He came home when he could. And every time he did, there was one non-negotiable rule.

“When he came home from the service, we always had to get Chinese, or the trip wasn’t complete,” Crystal Benfer said. “He loved his family so much and looked forward to coming home.”

That was the point. Home wasn’t a place. It was a table, chopsticks, laughter, and that familiar smile.

Then came Dec. 20, 2025.

Braydyn was driving east on Interstate 20 in Louisiana, heading home for Christmas. His hazard lights blinked in the dark. A pickup struck him from behind just before 1 a.m. He was 22. Police said he wore his seat belt. They didn’t suspect impairment. It was one of those awful moments that shouldn’t happen but does.

In the days that followed, Pennsylvania held its breath. His mom, Carolyn Wright, started mapping out the route that would bring him home. She traced the roads that marked his life, Bannerville, McClure, Beaver Springs, Beavertown, Middleburg, Selinsgrove, Sunbury, Northumberland and Danville, each place tied to a story, a friend, a year when time still lingered.

“Bannerville was included as it is where much of our family is rooted and where Braydy grew up,” Crystal Benfer said earlier. “Beaver Springs holds special meaning as the place where Braydyn attended elementary school, and Beavertown is home to many lifelong friends.” She paused. “Those were places where you would often see Braydyn and feel his presence.”

That Tuesday night, a military escort left Philadelphia with Braydyn and began the long trip west. Police led. The hearse followed. People lined the route, holding flags in the cold. They didn’t have to know him to feel something for him.

What they all knew was a 22-year-old soldier was finally on his way home.

Braydyn had a habit of making people feel heard. “He always said ‘valid point’ or ‘makes sense,'” his mom Carolyn said. “Which always made people feel he was really listening.” It was a phrase that didn’t change the world but changed the moment.

And maybe that was his secret. Braydyn didn’t fix everything. He made things better. A little lighter. A little easier to stand in.

He enjoyed skateboarding, UFC games, Funko Pop figures, hiking in Texas, and Taco Bell. He could be funny, quirky, stubborn, and quietly determined. He loved his fiancée, Destiny Sanders. He loved his family. He loved the army. And even when life got hard, he met it the way he met people, head-on, with that grin.

“Braydyn was that special person who could light up a situation just from being funny or his smile with those dimples that made your heart smile,” Crystal Benfer said. “He will be so missed.”

There’s a line between pride and heartbreak. His family is standing on it now.

The bedroom door still has the Please Knock!!! sign. The friends in Sunbury still see him in the corners of the skate park. The people who lined those Pennsylvania roads that night still remember the flashing lights and the silence that followed.

You can’t measure a life like Braydyn’s in years. Twenty-two doesn’t sound like much. But you can measure it in laughter, in loyalty, in one more trip home everyone wishes had been a little longer.

And now the hardest part is learning how to live in the places where he should still be, smiling like he always did, making the moment better by being in it.