by Marianne McDonald

A mother who has all her children alive cannot begin to understand the pain of surviving the death of a child. It takes the death of your child to understand that pain. Unfortunately, I know. My son, Dylan Graves, the light of my life, died in a car accident at the gate of his apartment complex on May 22, 2006. Dylan is forever 19 years old. My life became two parts – before May 22, 2006, and after May 22, 2006. I can’t even think about that day.

Dylan had it all. He was smart, popular, good looking, athletic, polite, easy going, tall, thin, and he had a smile that could light up a room. He was shy when you first met him – but when you were lucky enough to become his friend he would do anything for you. Dylan loved his family, his friends, and his dogs. He had just finished his freshman year at Blinn Jr. College, and was working at Home Depot in College Station while attending college. Like all college students, he thought his grades were going to be better than they were. The last semester of his life Dylan was convinced he would have 4 As and 1 B. Instead he got 3 As, 1B and I C. He enrolled in physics for summer school before he died, and was continuing to work at Home Depot and play on their softball team. The last time I talked to Dylan he was excited because he had three days off from Home Depot, and he was still convinced he could get that C in calculus changed to a B. Less than 24 hours later, Dylan’s life (and mine) was over.

I remember the first time I walked in the Christi Center. I still couldn’t believe that Dylan, my only child, had died. Susan Cox met with Nancy (whose daughter Hayley had died one week before Dylan), Mary (whose daughter Amy had died almost two years earlier and had been coming to the Christi Center), and me. Susan and Mary gave Nancy and me hope that we could make it. Susan and Mary were farther along than us, and they were still alive. Nancy and I connected. We were in the same situation, going through the same feelings. We talked almost every day, went to the Christi meetings, and even started meeting outside the Christi Center. Four years later, we are still the best of friends because we are in the same boat on this rough sea.

That’s the beauty of the Christi Center. No matter how long it’s been since your child died, or what state you are in, you will connect with someone. The connection might be the reason for your child’s death, birth order of your children, number of children you had, your profession, your personality, how long it’s been – whatever, you will connect with someone. And you probably won’t think that you are making any progress – but when another mother comes in with a recent loss – you will see how far you’ve come, and you will reach out to help that mother. You will see that it’s better to give back, instead of give up. I know that’s what Dylan expects of me. I give back for Dylan.

Every year since Dylan’s death I have documented my journey. Attached are links to that documentation. Please consider giving to the Christi Center. It’s the light that keeps me going – that and the love of Dylan.

Make a donation in memory of Dylan

Read Marianne’s reflections one year after Dylan’s death, in “It Takes a Village.“  Her subsequent annual updates are, “The Village Minus Two,” “The Village Retires,” and “Dutch and Dutchess.”