Concept: Jim Zimmerman
Photographer: Yoti Telio

Like pornography, you know art when you experience art. The statue of David is art. A spread eagle naked young lady on a web site is not. The latest Björk album is a work of art. The latest vapid album by One Direction album is not.

Dylan and I often talked about the merits of art. We would discuss what made art “good”. I told him many times that I thought that a truly great work of art can only be created when it contains some expression of the artist themselves. It has to have a connection to the artist that makes it real. He understood what I was saying and would site an example. One such example was a particular Senses Fail album for him.

I had an idea for something visual I wanted to create. The concept was very clear in my mind. Symbolic, yet obvious to anybody who knew Dylan. I wasn’t sure if I would have the courage to see it through. I discussed the idea with Marisa. She would have to be okay with it, because I needed her to be part of it. She was great and did not hesitate for a moment. I told her I wanted to try to create art, and not just a picture of us. I’m not sure she understood, but went along with me. I decided that it would be a gift to Donna for her birthday. I kept asking Marisa if she thought Donna would like it. I might have been looking for an easy exit from this idea.

I am glad that I did it. And I am glad that Marisa was so good about it. Otherwise, I may not have done it. I felt a great deal of relief after it was completed. It felt good to get it out of my system. I’m not sure that we created art, but we tried to create something to visually represent Dylan and how I have been feeling without him here.

Special thank you to Yoti Telio at Santa Clarita Photographic Studio for being patient with me and being open to my ideas. I needed his expertise to not only make my idea a reality, but to make it work.

Link to full image.

“Moments of clarity are so rare.
I better document this.”

Björk

Photo credit: Thalia Garcia (Yeah, I stole it.)

We went to the Santa Monica Pier on the evening of what would have been Dylan’s 22nd birthday. The weather was surprisingly pleasant. We walked around and ate dinner. We went on the Ferris wheel. Thalia said that Dylan insisted that they go on it whenever they were there. After we ate dinner, I wanted to go down to the old carousel at the beginning of the pier. Unfortunately, by the time we got down there, it had closed. Donna and I had taken Dylan there a couple times when he was little. Donna usually accompanied (held) Dylan while I tried to videotape them. The video never really turned out well, but I always seemed to have to try. I haven’t run across any of them yet. I thought this time, I might go on it with Donna.

As we were walking along the pier, Donna and I tried recall whether this was where we went during that first week we had Dylan home from hospital after he was born. We knew we went to a beach, but were not just sure which one. Well, I did a little digging and came up with this little snippet of proof.

It is kind of interesting that Dylan and Thalia would like to go to the pier given that it was Dylan’s first trip to the beach. Funny how some things work out. As a family, we had not been there in years. I think it was a good idea to spend what would have been Dylan’s day there.

When the kids wouldn’t cooperate with me at one of the most famous photo taking locations in the world, I told them they would regret it when they got older. Dylan had no opportunity to regret.

Dylan was not a “things” person. He liked “things” like everybody else, but it was not something that occupied his mind. He liked nice clothes, but didn’t constantly let everybody know that that was what he wanted. He wanted a new computer and complained about his, but didn’t come out and say “I WANT A NEW COMPUTER.” I liked that about him.

I think in the last couple years of Dylan’s life he started to discover the best part of Christmas and other significant days of the year. The giving. I tried to explain to the kids that there is nothing better than giving a gift that they have put some thought into. I think Dylan was starting to understand that, when he got Donna a picture frame filled with pictures of him with Marisa and Thalia for his last Mother’s day.

It wasn’t the gifts that made Christmas 2005 memorable for us as a family. It was the experience. We decided to go some place for Christmas. Yosemite.

We had fog, snow, crime and ice skating. And Christmas, of course.

As we were driving through the Central Valley, we hit really thick fog. We didn’t know if it was the infamous “tule fog” or not, but that is what we called it. After that, any fog was joked about as being “tule.”

When we arrived in the Yosemite valley we were disappointed to find no snow. The kids were especially upset. We had all the cold, but none of the white stuff. I promised them we would find some snow before we went home.

Somebody at one of the places we stayed directed us to a ski resort that was not yet open, but would have snow for the kids to play in. It wasn’t far, so we went there one day. Well, I wasn’t content to just play in a drift beside the parking area. I thought it might be fun to hike up the skiing area a little bit and slide down it. So, Dylan and I jumped over the barbed wire fence with aid of a large drift and started to the mountain. We thought it would be so cool, until some guy with bullhorn decided to threaten us with trespassing. Back to the drifts and small hill we went. I got a lot of “told ya”s from Donna for that one.

The kids snowman attempt.
Clearly, we were out of our element.

One of the things that really stands out to me on that trip was when we went for a short hike on one of the trails in the valley. It led to one of the falls and there was a beginning to another trail that went up by the falls. I remember standing there thinking that I would like to take that hike with Dylan. It didn’t happen and probably wouldn’t have, but these are the kinds of things that make the days so hard. Now, it is not even possible.

Another highlight of the trip was ice skating. I can’t really think of a better place to have three Southern California natives step onto the ice for the first time than the floor Yosemite valley. We wouldn’t tell Marisa where we were going. She was so excited when she saw the sign hanging over the entrance. I was glad to share that first experience with Dylan and Marisa. Of course, Donna wasn’t exactly a pro, but it wasn’t her first time. At least, we got to do that with Dylan.

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“So this is Xmas
and what have you done”
John Lennon

Thus far — survived.

Sometimes, when Dylan would be in my thoughts, I would stop by his room. I would sit in his desk chair and visit with him. Ask him how things were going.

We might compare our likes/dislikes of Windows 8, as I would click around on his desktop computer. He built that computer himself. He got really good grades. One year, I told him that if he finished the year with straight A’s, I would buy him the parts for a computer and I would walk him through building it. I think he enjoyed it and learned something about the parts of a computer. When we went to buy a case, he wanted this big bulky one, because it looked cool. That thing was huge. It barely fit in his desk cubby. I pushed back a little, but in the end it was his choice. At various times in these discussions, we would talk about the feasibility of upgrading it, which never happened.

We would talk about school, life, music, gaming, etc. Sometimes, I would pass on a life lesson in hopes that he would learn from my mistakes. Which has seemed more like a life lesson for me. I learned that my children would make their own mistakes, and then would hopefully learn the very same lessons that I have tried to pass on to them. I have learned that many of life’s lessons seemingly must be learned first hand.

Dylan has been my thoughts more than usual the last few days. I would really like to stop by his room and visit with him.

A few years ago, I got a new pair of work shoes for Christmas. The first or second time I wore them to work, I noticed that somebody else had the exact same shoes. That was that. I am pretty sure I didn’t wear them again after that.

Dylan had a job interview I believe, and needed to wear some nice shoes, of which he had none at the time. In came my barely worn work shoes to the rescue, since Dylan and I wore exactly the same size shoe. He hated the shoes, but wore them for the interview. It was then that he referred to them as “clown shoes.” It brings a smile to my face just imagining him calling them that. He would say it with as much disgust in his voice as he could muster. I don’t remember if he got that job, but he did find a job, and that job required black shoes. He was stuck with the clown shoes until he bought some different ones. Being a young man with little money to “throw away” on something as impractical as a pair of work shoes, he decided to stick with the clown shoes.

The clown shoes, along with Dylan’s others, including his pair of shoes that I wore to his service, were thrown into a pile in garage, when I started on the flooring in his room. There, they remained until the rain came. Storm Watch December 2014 (at least for a couple days). Like Dylan, I guess I didn’t want to waste money on work shoes. Needless to say, I discovered that when I walked on the rain soaked parking lot on my way into work, my socks quickly became soaking wet. I dug the clown shoes out of the pile in garage. I couldn’t help but smile when I told Donna how I discovered I needed new shoes, and that I was wearing the clown shoes for now. Both of us always referring to them as “clown shoes.”

This picture was taken just before Thanksgiving 2007. Dylan titled the picture “Risa&Me.” This would have been a selfie, before there was selfie.

Sometimes we would do things together as a family, and then afterwards say, “That was fun and different. We should do that again.” One such time was for Thanksgiving in 2007. Donna and I ran the 10k Dana Point Turkey Trot. Since the race started at 7:00am, we ignorantly decided to drive across Los Angeles and Orange County after work on the day before Thanksgiving to stay in a hotel close to the starting line. It took us over three hours to get there.

Donna and I got up and left for the race. Dylan and Marisa were left in the hotel room with clear instructions not to open the door for anybody. They locked the door from inside and we left a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door. We were only gone for, at most, a couple hours, but Marisa still mentions how much they had fun in that room watching TV and being kids.

Later, we spent some time driving around town, trying find someplace to have Thanksgiving dinner. We didn’t really have a plan, and this was another reason we thought we would like do it again. Next time, we would have a little better plan. I don’t remember what we ended up eating for Thanksgiving that year, but it might have been pizza.

—-

We made it through Thanksgiving this year, as much as we really didn’t want to. We did something different again. Different for us, yet very traditional. We had a lot of family at our house. We had never done this before, but Donna and I thought it might it easier. I am pretty sure it did make it easier, and I am grateful that everybody came. I missed the competition with Dylan over the mashed potatoes. Unfortunately, this year I know there will be some leftover for me. Usually Dylan would finish them before I got a chance.

For quite a few years, we tried to take a moment to recognize what we were thankful for before we ate. Sometimes, we mostly joked around about it, but we always tried impress on Dylan and Marisa how very fortunate we have been. Most importantly, we told Dylan and Marisa how very thankful Donna and I were to have two beautiful, healthy and intelligent children. Now, I know that I can spin what has happened to Dylan in any number of ways to say something postive, but that doesn’t change my feeling like I have less to be thankful for this year.

Thank you to the family, including Thalia, for being there with us for Thanksgiving. You helped to make a difficult day less difficult.

I found myself a bit down a couple weeks ago, while listening to the Flaming Lips song by song cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which I like a lot. I didn’t really put it together until I realized some of my favorite parts of the album. Miley Cyrus’ baked, smokey verses in “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, as well as her part in the bridge of “A Day in the Life.” It took me a number of times listening to the album before the “coincidences” hit me again. It really occurred to me when my phone just decided to play something random, and it was the Lifehouse song in my Dylan play list instead of the Flaming Lips album.

Why did it take me so long to make the connections? Ugh. Dylan played the entire album on guitar. He was sweet on Miley Cyrus, years ago. Lifehouse was just the hammer to my head to make it more obvious.

I have referred to it as slipping when trying to describe it to Donna and others. I don’t want him to slip from my mind. I don’t want the memories to slip from my memory. I want them to remain pure. Real. Honest. And I fear they won’t, or have already been muddied. I fear they can’t and are slipping away into the fog of my past.

Update: It has been driving me crazy that there are a couple inaccuracies in this post that I need to correct. While the intersection at Copper Hill and Copperstone is and will always be a crucial part of our lives, it is not technically the place where Dylan was last alive. It is the last place that he was as we have known him. I should have been more careful in my statements, because I am grateful to all of the people that were there for Dylan. Including all of the emergency workers that were able to keep him alive long enough, so that I could be there for Donna and Marisa when Dylan did eventually slip away from us. I have put the words “breathing” and “alive” in quotes, because I have been unable to come up with a more appropriate way of conveying my point.

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After a disappointing result in last years Santa Clarita 5k, I determined that I was going to do the half marathon if it meant that I had to crawl across the finish line. I figured I would run as far as I could, and then walk the rest. Then, my life changed.

After we planted the tree in Heritage Park, it became my objective to get there once a week as part of my workout. Perhaps, it was my attempt at mourning, but it became much more. I started doing this on March 16th. I would run 5 minutes, then walk 5 minutes over and over until I got there. Then, I would return using the same routine. It had nothing to do with the goal of running 13 miles. It had to do with dealing with loss and mourning, I think. Something happened along the way, and I pushed myself a little more to get to the park. Then, I only walked one time for five minutes, before getting to the park.

After that, I ran the nearly four miles from the spot where Dylan was last “breathing” to the tree in Heritage Park we planted in our own little private memorial. I listened to songs — so many songs, I got emotional. I cried a few times as I approached either of the two endpoints of my path. I got angry. Really angry. I thought a lot about Dylan.

One Augustines lyric that stuck out many of those times, so fittingly described what all of us felt early in our mourning:

YOU FEEL SEE THROUGH
LIKE EVERYONE SEES YOUR HEART
IS BLOWN APART, THAT IT’S CRIPPLED
AND CRACKED AND HAD ENOUGH..

I must have listened to that a hundred times while I was huffing and puffing my way though another mile.

I would mention the marathon, yet avoid committing to it. I didn’t really feel up to it. I couldn’t get over the mental hurdle. Personal achievement was of no interest. Nothing really changed as far as my routine, until, as uncertain as ever, I registered for the half marathon on September 16th.

On Sunday September 21, I ran for a little over 5 miles. It was the first time, I had run along a stretch of road I mentioned in another post (Panic At The Disco). It struck me. I wanted my next goal to be to make it back to Heritage Park. I had no idea how far it was. I just knew it was my next goal. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was probably when my thoughts of Dylan and landmarks of his life in our neighborhood became an inspiration instead of a memorial. It took me two or three weeks to get back to Heritage Park only to realize how much further I would have to go to get to the finish line in November.

I knew that the goal that would put me over top would be making it all the way back to the intersection of Copper Hill and Copperstone. The place where Dylan was last “alive.”

It took me another three weeks to reach that goal, but I did. The next weekend, I ran past that crucial intersection, and found myself lost. I had no idea what to do to get the last two miles in to reach 13.1. I basically ran around the block and realized that the hill was too steep for me to do that twice in end of the longest run of my life, so I just started running back down hill thinking of the pain in my legs. Not recognizing how the pain of what had happened to Dylan had caused me to pursue an objective that would cause me so much pain then. I did it, and I stopped RunKeeper on exactly 13.10. And then faced myself with the journey of hiking up the high hill I just ran down on wobbly weak legs to get myself home.

The following week I thought about a lot of things, but I really thought about some way to pay tribute to Dylan while I was running. A number of ideas passed through my head. One phrase was consistent: “I’m Thinking of Dylan Zimmerman.” The key word in the Augustines lyric is “feel.” I have felt “see through” during these last few months, but I am not “see though.” I felt I wanted the world to know that I had been thinking of my son while I was training, preparing and ultimately achieving this objective. It would not have otherwise been possible. In the end, I did nothing because I didn’t want to let him down if I failed. Instead, I have posted my experience here for all the world to see if they so chose.

Over the course of the last two months we have had a few birthday dinners. No matter how many times the count of people is done there is ALWAYS an empty seat. I couldn’t help but take a picture, yes, with my bad picture phone, of how yet again Dylan is missing. I must do the count of people 5 or 6 times before making the reservations and it never fails. There is always a spot at the table for him, Is that something that over time stops? OR Is it supposed to be that way because he is always truly with us even if not in body?

Today marks 8 months since he was stolen from our family. My nephew, who I have always held this special spot in my heart for and would give anything to have him sitting at the table with us again. I miss you everyday!

Today, as is every 14th of the month, I will go through work listening to the music that Dylan showed me, Lifehouse, maybe even a ballad from Linkin Park and Artist vs. Poet which unfortunately, I did not get to listening to until he was gone; but somehow listening to them now makes me feel even closer to him.

Days like this are the hardest; but also days like this are when the strongest of memories come through. Maybe that chair is there because of the Chilli’s dinner we had with him for his 21st. Aunt Jennie and Uncle Lonny offered to buy the boy a drink and to have one with him. He just smiled that Dylan smile, glanced at his folks and said no, that’s ok. I miss you boy.

We had to make a trip back to Santa Cruz and we were not very confident in the van, so we decided to rent a car. This would have been on a break. I think it was spring break. Dylan and I were tasked with getting the rental car. As I recall, both of us were in a decent mood. We chatted quite a bit on the drive over.

When we were done with torturous task of getting the rental agreement etc. completed, I momentarily thought about letting Dylan drive the rental car. I opted not to, because I wanted to drive a newer car. I was still driving the ’96 Civic at the time. We were off. Dylan was following behind.

Maybe I needed to pee. Maybe I wanted to get home. Maybe I just wanted to drive fast. So that is what I did when I rounded the corner of Bouquet Canyon and Newhall Ranch. I punched the accelerator and took the rental… Well, lets just say I accelerated double digits over where I should have been. Not wanting to get too far behind me or wanting to feel the rush of the air through the car, Dylan stayed right with me.

This made it easy for the kind police officer hiding in a side street off of Newhall Ranch to pull both of us over in the bus stop near the Walgreens. I’m sitting there in the car waiting my turn thinking, “Why did he just have to stay with me?” He should have known better than to do what I do. He is supposed to learn from my mistakes. Haha. Then, it occurred to me. I couldn’t make him pay for the ticket. Shit, I was going to have to pay for two tickets for the joy of a little frivolous street racing in a rental car and a 15 year old tired Honda Civic. Ugh. He had to do his own online traffic school work though. I drew the line there.

I chose this picture, because his grin could be interpreted as mischievous. And he is wearing a Mario t-shirt that made me think of Mario Kart, a racing game.

Looking back now, it was worth it. I miss you, son.