Jeopardy answer:
From the Welsh elements “great” and “tide, flow”. In Welsh mythology he was a god or hero associated with the sea.

I recently had a dream about Dylan. He wasn’t in my dream, but I could feel him. He was in the other room. The house was warm. Comfortable. It was home. For a moment.

Somebody came to the door. A teen aged girl was trying to get kids signed up for soccer. She asked if we had any girls who might interested. I told her that Marisa played quite a few years ago and seemed to be pretty good, but she chose to dance instead. The girl smiled and said “Okay, well thank you for your time.” and started to walk away.

I told her to wait. Then, for some reason, I said, “I think my son might be interested.” Next thing I know, I am holding a piece of paper and pencil to supposedly be signing him up or adding him to a list. I looked down at the piece of paper, really a 5×7 card, and there was only the number 18 written largely on it. And I am going over and over the 8 of the 18 that takes ups nearly the whole card. Everything felt right until I held that card in my hand. Then, I said to the girl, “What am I thinking? I am sorry. My son is 18. He is too old to sign up.” Without another word, the girl turn away and I closed the front door.

The warmth was gone. The comfort lost. I stood in living room using wall to support myself while I cried uncontrollably until I felt nauseous and as if somebody had sucker punched me in the gut.

Again.

Without hesitation.
Question: Who is Dylan?

Spent a good day with the whole family on Saturday. This is the second year we have done this. It is a good thing.

The highlight of the day for me was when Meghan reached across the table to show the the boys and Marisa something on her phone. The scripted tattoo with a single name tastefully scratched across her wrist pointed toward my end of the table. It seemed to give the four or five us down there pause. As if I hadn’t already been, especially lately, it was just a moment to reflect and think about Dylan.

I was just busy packing away. Constantly thinking I was forgetting something.

“Why is there still so much room?”

Usually, the van would just be packed full with barely any room for the kids in the back. Even for a small trip like this one. Our first in over two years now. Without even thinking, I threw the tent and lantern on one of back seats, still clueless as to why I would be able to see a little out the back window.

Then it hit me after verbalizing my concerns a couple times. Maybe Dylan would have gone on this short getaway. He had been on many before.

As I rode up to Heritage park well into the back half of a challenging bike ride, I thought or might have even said under my breathe, “It took me a while today, but I made it.” I just started crying. It was the first time in quite a while. As I continued on with the hot air evaporating my tears, I found myself angry, and trying to shove square pegs into round holes as I listened to “You Satellite” by Wilco. “Dammit, this song is too good to be about TV or giving away your songs or control over content. It just has to be. It has to fit somewhere with what I going through.” I bend the lyrics. I try to make my own. I try…

“Could genes have changed any failure?”

“Sometimes I don’t care lately.”

“I have become a calendar while I am waiting.”

…and find myself as directionless as ever. Maybe more so.

“I don’t want to go and I don’t want to stay.”

Sometimes, I think I have tried and failed to fill the void, where I normally would see if Dylan wanted to go with me somewhere. I really hate not having that option. I can’t really think of a time when he said no, unless he had to work. Sometimes, it seems to work for a while. Other times, it make me think about him more.

Last Saturday was our wedding anniversary. It meant that I have been married longer than I have not. Unintentionally, it was also the day that we sold some of Dylan’s things at a garage sale. I am pretty certain that his things were all Christmas presents. Nothing wrong with each of them. They just no longer had anybody to belong to.

The Sony stereo almost seems archaic today, but Dylan usually had the CD changer filled with CDs that he burned from music he downloaded or CDs that he bought. The computer speakers with a sub-woofer that he used quite a bit. We used to talk about how good that sounded. I’m not sure which one he would turn to when he wanted to crank up the volume. I suppose both of them had their time and place. The stereo didn’t really bother me when I sold for a few dollars, but when the speakers went, it hit me. As each item left with its new owner, it kind of felt like we were leaving yet another piece of Dylan to memory. I debated about keeping the speakers and using them in garage, but at some point opted to let it go. I just remembered occasionally going to his room when he had some music on, and more than once, talking about how that was a good buy. Sometimes Santa would take the credit. I know he appreciated them.

The last thing of Dylan’s that we sold was his good music stand. As he progressed as a musician, the pieces he would play got longer and longer. He had quickly out grown the cheap little music stand, and needed something bigger and more sturdy. There were a few times when the music would have to be taped to cardboard, so it would stay on the stand. I remember when he played the Yes song “Mood For A Day” at his recital. It was hard to see him, because the music took up so much space in front of him. I have often wondered how he felt about playing guitar after the lessons had run their course. It is a conversation I never got the opportunity to have with him.

These grapes are really good. I suppose I know why they have made it through the week without disappearing.

You have been on my mind a lot this week, Dylan. You know Marisa is going to be driving in the next couple days. She’s gonna be ok? Right?

Yesterday was a day of a couple firsts in well over a year by now. It was a really nice day and the sun was low enough so as not to be in my eyes on my drive home. I decided that it would be nice to open the sun roof. I haven’t had it open since we lost Dylan. The thought of the bright world invading my darkness was just too much. Until yesterday. It made me think of Dylan for whatever reason. The Civic he was driving had a sun roof. Did he ever open it? I don’t know. He may have pulled up one day with it open, when I saw him.

The other first was spaghetti squash for dinner. I used to make it once a while and top it with some sauce and ground meat. It was something Dylan and I would eat since the rest of the family wouldn’t come near it. I had passed the squash a number of times in the market, but left it because I knew I would be the only one eating it and I didn’t want to go through the hassle. A week or two ago, I finally decided to get one. For a while, I was not sure whether I would make it or just pitch it. Instead, I made it last night, and thought of Dylan most of the time I was eating that over cooked vegetable.

I really miss him some days. He feels so far away now. I want him to be closer.

It was nice driving with the roof open for a little while. I wasn’t even half way home when I started to get cold and closed it up.

With the Replacements “Here Comes a Regular” playing loudly in the background and working “up a mean, mean thirst after a hard day of nothin’ much at all”, I stared at a stack of CDs among many others.

It is a song about loneliness and despair …
“Here comes a regular, call out your name
Here comes a regular, Am I the only one here today
…
everybody wants to be someone’s here”

The song’s setting is some dank bar probably in middle America, but I suppose it could be any dank bar in the world. I have often thought it quite ironic that you can feel so alone in a place with a 100,000 people that all have something in common. Or 100 people. Or someplace “in back with the loudmouths” in some dank bar. Or 10. Or 2.

… and alcoholism.
“I’ll take a great big whiskey to anyway
…
here comes a regular, am I the only one who feels ashamed”

They weren’t my CDs, but it was my music playing.

Desperate for something like a hug or a pat on the back from Dylan, I pulled one of his CDs out of the stack. It was by a band that had three members that were previously from a band I thought just might be radical enough to really change the world. I am not sure whether they burned out or just faded away, but one thing is for certain, they are not nearly as relevant or powerful apart as they were together. Hhmm.

Dylan really liked Audioslave. We talked about them quite a bit. He liked them more than I did. Rage Against the Machine was much more interesting to me. It felt like there was going to be a revolution when those guys were on stage. I probably told Dylan more than once about the first time I saw Rage Against the Machine on stage. They opened for Social Distortion. It was one the most incredible rock experiences I have ever had. It ranks very close to the top of many, many live experiences I have had. An opening band. Amazing.

I opened that Audioslave CD and stuck my nose in it and smelled. I was hoping for something. Anything that reminded me of what it was like having Dylan in our lives. Or our house. Or music collection. Just anything other than what we have. There was nothing. Not the faint scent of that Axe body spray he would wear. Nothing.

Despair.

I thought of pulling out another one. Instead, I gave up and left the room with nothing.

“First the grass, then leaves at last, here comes the snow
Ain’t much to rake anyway in the fall”

I usually wear that tie once a week. As far as wearing ties goes, I like that one. It was Dylan’s. I’m just borrowing it.

I’m dressin’ sharp,
And feelin’ dull.
The Replacements

These words were difficult for me to come up with, but I had to do it for you, Dylan. I feel the system demands it when you lose someone close to you in a violent crime. This is but a fraction of the ways that I have been impacted.

My son Dylan was such an important part my life and Donna’s life that I cannot overstate it. The birth of our first child was a catalyst for us to begin to live the kind of life we wanted. He was the motivator for us to move to Santa Clarita.

How has my life changed since my son, Dylan, died on Valentine’s Day in 2014?

I notice so many small things that make me think of him and how much I miss him. A couple days ago, while running I noticed a single rabbit in the middle of the bike path exactly where a young Dylan had a bad bike spill while the two of us were riding. I started to tear up. I hadn’t noticed any rabbits there for several weeks. Why is this one looking right at me? Is he trying to tell me something? Why today? I am sure that my struggles with the words to convey our loss to the court played a part.

How have I been impacted by the loss of my son? I run three days a week. For over a year, I have routine that I cannot vary. Two days a week, I must run to a very special tree the city allowed us to help plant in Heritage Park in Dylan’s memory. The other day of the week is the only time I go to the corner where Dylan was fatally injured. I run from that corner to the tree in Heritage park. I feel that I must succeed in making this run or the guilt will just be too much to bare. Did I not make it because Dylan has slipped from mind? Am I still not inspired by the spirit of Dylan? I cannot let that happen. How have I been impacted? I dread the day when I start out on that run and just can’t make it.

Another day, Dylan was in my thoughts most of the day, and that night I had a dream that I could feel his presence, but he felt so far away. I hate when I feel like that, but it seems to be happening more and more. Without even thinking, the next day I played some music from one of the artists at the last show we went to see together. I realized what I had done when a song called “I Want To Grow Up” came on. I was excited to see how Dylan would grow up. I wanted him to have the opportunity to play his part in this world. Dylan’s death has affected every aspect of our lives.

How have I been impacted by the death of my son? I used to carry nothing on my keyring except for a house key and a car key. Now, my key ring has an attachment that says “I Love You Daddy”. It is a quote from Dylan on an early recording he and I made while playing with sound recorder on one of our first computers. Sometimes, I look at it and smile. Most times, I look at it when I’m feeling the pain of missing him. The other object on my keyring is from Dylan’s girlfriend, Thalia, to me. It has the word STRENGTH stamped on it. I am supposed to give it somebody else, when I don’t need it anymore. I don’t feel anywhere near being ready to pass it on.

How have I been impacted by the loss of Dylan? Now, every person driving really fast or erratically is on drugs. That was not always the case before that Valentine’s Day.

We have been members of the Santa Clarita community for many years now. Our 15 year old daughter has spent her entire life growing up there. Dylan spent over three quarters of his life growing up there. This tragedy has pushed my family to do things we would have never done before. I have had to speak in front of more people in the last year than I thought I ever would. The first time came up when some members of the community held a candlelight vigil for Dylan shortly after his passing at the corner where the collision occurred. We had no idea how to react or even what to say. Donna and I tried. Inside, it felt like I was about to explode. The pressure seemingly unbearable. People deserved to hear that we appreciated their support, yet I felt as though I was barely functioning.

How has my life changed since Dylan died? People still stop by that corner and give a moment. People we don’t even know. How has my life changed since Dylan died? We no longer drive through that intersection that is a few hundred feet away from our home of over thirteen years.
 
How have we been impacted? Important places to Dylan and our family will never be same. Santa Cruz will never be the same. Santa Monica Pier will never be same. Carpinteria State Beach will never be same. We will never be able to go to those places anymore without being reminded of what has happened to Dylan.

When this act of violence occurred and my wife Donna thought she saw Dylan’s car, I had to hear something in her voice that just made me instantly feel the same pain and panic. I did my best to try to calm her down from fifty miles away. She was heading up the steep hill to where the collision occurred. I desperately wanted to be her eyes. I didn’t want her to see what we now know was there. The scream she let out when she realized, it was in fact Dylan’s car — The frantic running around when she could not find him -— It just destroyed me.

As soon as she hung up, I got in my car and made the longest fifty mile drive of life. I was numb. I was in shock. Was he okay? Maybe it is just a broken leg? He has to be okay. What will we do if he is not? What if he is not alive? My brain was going a mile a minute. My car was going about 40 miles per hour. I wanted to hear from her again.

How has my life been impacted by the violent death of my son on Valentine’s Day 2014? My wife, Donna, called me back with a little more information. Through her sobs she begged me to get there soon. That is when I realized that it was bad. Really bad. As I drove under the 118 overpass on the 210, I kept muttering “no, no, no, no, no.” And, “what about his head? What about his head?” She couldn’t tell me anymore.

When I arrived at the hospital, Donna and I immediately went in to see Dylan. His skin was pale and he was motionless. An ER nurse came up to us, and told us to talk to him. We were in shock. Absolute shock. What happened to our lives? Through our tears, each of us let out a few words, but we did not know what to say. It was the most horrible moment of my life. My first child lying there fatally injured, and I cannot think of any words to say to him that will show us some sign of life. All those discussions Dylan and I had. All those life lessons I tried to teach him to make him a good person. All those words, and I could not come up with anything to make him live.

How has this violent crime and the loss of my son, Dylan Zimmerman impacted my life and my family’s life? In every way imaginable.

Photo: Dylan riding home for the first time. Ten days after he was born.

“In his mother’s arms it was all the beauty I could take
Like the missing words to some prayer that I could never make
In a world so hard and dirty so fouled and confused
Searching for a little bit of God’s mercy
I found living proof”

Recently, I stumbled upon a Bruce Springsteen song that always meant so much to me. “Living Proof” is about somebody re-evaluating their life after the birth of his son. Dylan was so important in helping to make me the person I am today. He was just not a child of mine carrying around a few of my genes.

The birth of Dylan immediately changed my life forever. My life was touched by the whole process. I was most amazed by how I could love somebody so much that had barely taken his first breath. At that moment, I knew I would do anything for him. I would do anything to protect him from the perils of the world. It was the most incredible feeling I have ever experienced. I could not and can not imagine how anybody could ever feel differently. I’m sure this is why is sickens me to see how some people treat each other, especially their own children.

“You shot through my anger and rage
To show me my prison was just an open cage
There were no keys no guards
Just one frightened man and some old shadows for bars”

Goals and objectives became clear over the first few years of Dylan’s life. Eventually, we worked things out enough to fumble our way through life, and had another child that I loved as immediately as Dylan. A child that we are so — so very glad to have in our lives. A child that we would do anything to protect from the perils of the world. We found our “living proof” in our children too.

“Well now all that’s sure on the boulevard
Is that life is just a house of cards
As fragile as each and every breath
Of this boy sleepin’ in our bed”

Life is fragile when you’re baby boy. Life is fragile.

“It’s been along long drought baby
Tonight the rain’s pourin’ down on our roof
Looking for a little bit of God’s mercy”

“Living Proof” By Bruce Springsteen