Recently, I have thought about the night Dylan graduated from high school. I just keep remembering finding him on the field after ceremony, and walking right up to him to give him a big hug. I didn’t want to let him go in that moment, because I knew that things would be different. I didn’t feel ready, but I realized that he had become a man when I noticed how much taller was than I. Perhaps, these thoughts have resulted in this dream I had last night:

Dylan had short hair. It might have had some gel in it, but not much. I would say he was about seven. He was standing in front of a folding table that had an old man sitting on the other side. There were a few papers scattered on the table. Dylan looked like he was wearing a school uniform, but this did not seem to be school related.

All of a sudden, I was in the empty garage of the townhouse we used to own. There might have been a few people around the perimeter of the garage, but Dylan and I were in the middle. When I saw him, I walked up to him and hugged him tight while crying uncontrollably. I said to him, “It has been so long since I have seen you when you were so small.”

This morning, when I walked up to the tree in Heritage park, my eyes filled with tears as this dream from last night came back to me.

When each of my children was born, I had their lives all figured out. Dylan was going to be the physicist that was going to solve the worlds clean energy obstacles. He was also going to front a popular band just for fun. When Marisa was born, she was going to be the chemist to help provide the final pieces needed for the theory Dylan had developed. Oh yeah, she would also be a world famous violinist who would be able to score Donna and I airfare and Carnegie Hall tickets to see her play. Fantasy stuff. I just wanted them to succeed. They could be a doctor, engineer, programmer, accountant, retail clerk, trash man, janitor, ditch digger — a friend. Just so long as they were happy, and grateful for their accomplishments and wiser from their failures. All this, to mention that there are moments in a parents’ life when time stands still and none of those things matter. And nothing can harm you and your family. Everything is just perfect for that moment. For some they are few and far between, I would imagine, but we have been fortunate to have quite a few. Here is one such moment from Dylan’s life.

Dylan used to constantly do little drawings of basically the same character over and over. Their eyes might change or their clothes. Their shoes or activity might be next, but one constant for the longest time was the hair. They always had the same Yugimon spiky hairstyle. I used to give him a hard time about it until one time when he finally answered the question that was most on my mind when I looked at one of his drawings: “Why do they all have the same hair?” To which he replied, “That’s the only way I can draw hair.” I asked, “Have you tried something different? You can try anything. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It will get better the more you do it.” I think he said he did, but he hadn’t tried in a while. Eventually, the hair did change and I think a class he took in school pushed to do some more challeging things. In fact, his proudest drawing was one he did for a class. When I first saw that drawing, it made me think of a “Liger” (see Napoleon Dynamite). I keep meaning to post that picture.

Here is a drawing I found on a folded up piece of paper, while cleaning up after do some floor work this weekend. I would say this one is probably around the same time as the ones Jennie posted.

We miss you, son.

I don’t remember how long ago these scores of card games was, but I do know my boys weren’t old enough to play if they were even born yet and Marisa, the girl, was either too young or not here yet either. Which would have made Dylan approximately 8 or 9 years old maybe.

There is that part of me that wishes I dated the score boards. Especially now. I found these pages as I was looking for something else in our trailer camping in Santa Paula last weekend. I found on page one, none-the-less, Aunt Jennie and Dylan. Of course, I broke out in tears.

I have plenty of memories of Dylan and it never seizes to amaze me how something so small can ignite even more memories and times I had with him. He would sit and play with me when nobody else would and as always, any time he had a pen/pencil and paper near him it would turn into a reason to draw.

He amazed me how he could draw such clear a precise pictures freehand and all I could ever manage was stick figures and no imagination. I truly know that if he was given the opportunity and time he would have been an even more amazing and talented man.

He was robbed on his future but it is up to all of us to hold on to his past.