The chapel was already heavy with grief, but when Sharon Osbourne took her daughter Kelly’s hand and led her to the front of the room, a hush unlike any before fell across the mourners. Under a soft white spotlight, the two women stood side by side — mother and daughter, widow and child — their faces etched with sorrow, their steps weighted with love and loss.

Sharon approached the microphone first, pausing to gather herself, her breath trembling audibly in the silence. She looked out over the sea of tear-streaked faces, then back at the casket where the man who had defined her world now rested. “This was his favorite song…” she said, voice cracking with emotion. “And tonight, we sing it for him.”

The first gentle notes of “Changes” began, echoing through the chapel like a memory. Kelly took the lead, her voice fragile, barely holding together as she sang the words she once sang beside her father decades earlier. But this time, there was no studio. No second take. Only the truth of the moment.

Halfway through the verse, her voice gave out. Tears overtook her. Her body shook. And without hesitation, Sharon stepped in, wrapping an arm around her daughter, drawing her close. Together, they continued — voices quivering, but united, blending like a mother and child trying to sing through heartbreak.

Witnesses described it as less a performance and more a moment of survival — two women clinging to each other through every note, through every ache, through every lyric that now meant something entirely new. When Sharon sang “I’m going through changes…” the chapel could hardly bear it. The line was no longer about growing pains. It was about a life without him.

As the final note floated upward, barely above a whisper, the two stepped forward — still holding each other — and placed their hands gently on the polished wood of Ozzy’s casket. Together, through trembling lips, they whispered: “We love you, Dad.”

The room broke.

There were no words, only sobs — from friends, family, even the strongest of rock legends in attendance. It wasn’t just the end of a song. It was the end of an era, sung by the two people who knew him best, who had loved him longest, and who had now found the strength to say goodbye not with applause, but with music… and with tears.

It was a farewell so raw, so intimate, that it felt like the whole world had been let into a sacred moment — a daughter’s grief, a wife’s strength, and a family’s final song to the man who changed them forever.