For Dylan Roach

Mid-May is beautiful. The skies are crisp blue, birds chirping, the sounds of lawn mowers and weed eaters – people busy shaping up their yards, planting flowers.

But here in Eaton, tragedy has struck. It seems so strange that the days go on, one after the other, just like they did before. The earth does not stop and mourn. The sun still shines. Everyone else’s children keep playing soccer, keep going to school, keep going to friends’ houses. But one does not.

I didn’t want to write about Dylan losing his life. I feel like I did not know him well enough to have the right. And maybe that’s true. And I am not the mother who is suffering beyond words. I have no comprehension of that depth of pain. But I did know his mother, and I know she adores her children, and always puts them first.

I wouldn’t even consider myself a ‘close family friend’. But those of us who grew up in Eaton are all connected by tiny threads; six degrees of separation. We grew up together, and as “grown-ups” together now – we know how important our loved ones are to each other. We know the emotional investment we all make in our children.

When they are born, we are forever changed. And each child touches us differently. Each little personality, each little soul, makes us who we are. Without their influence, who would we be? Would we be more one-dimensional? Would we understand other parents’ struggles? Would we ever learn the meaning of selflessness?

We see our children with such worshipfulness. They each are gifts, and we know it. We see the perfection of their hearts. All they want is to be loved, to feel secure, to have fun, to eat ice cream and pop tarts, to go exploring, to win games, to be with their friends. We encourage them in the things they love and that bring them joy. We talk to them, hug them, kiss them when others tear down their dreams or hurt them. We help mend their hearts every time they are broken.

A mother’s worst fear is to lose their child – at any age. It is unimaginable. That void is abysmal – and no one can ever fill it. That one dear soul, that left a mark in his little place on earth, was made unique to all others, made with special purpose by God, as all children are.

Why does God take children from us? I can’t begin to answer this. Some say it is because they are needed as angels in heaven. Others say “it was just their time”. Still others say “everything has a purpose under heaven.” And maybe none or all are true. Maybe looking for reasons is futile.

Losing Dylan has hurt so many hearts. While I did not truly know Dylan, I know that now I hug my son longer before bed. I know that his sad and needless death made me, and many other parents, sit with their children and tell them, “If anyone is every hurting you, if you are ever sad or hopeless, if you need me, I’m always here.”

That won’t always be enough to save every child. But when tragedy takes a child from us, we must hold dearly to the ones we have around us or in our care. We must teach our children to be kind and to respect each other. We have to learn to step in when others are hurting.

May Dylan’s death remind us every day not only to cherish our children, but to raise accepting, giving and loving children who treat others as they would want to be treated. We may not be able to change the world, or anyone else's children, but we can invest the very best of us in our own.

Thank you, Dylan, for reminding me of the importance and the responsibility of being a mother.