It did not take long for the news of Dalton’s accident to explode on social media.  It was all over Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.  As per the case in many initial social media reports, many of the details were reported inaccurately.  Some said he had died in the ambulance on the way to Andover.  Many mistook the type of ATV he was driving.  There were stories of Dalton being pinned under the Ranger.  RIP posts quickly permeated their way through comment after comment.  Though they didn’t quite understand, children all around our area were just beginning their own agonizing journeys of grief.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.  May they rest in peace.  Amen.”  Father Schemms voice cracked as he closed his prayer book.  I don’t remember if Troy’s parents or my parents stayed in the room with Dalton or not.  I recall Troy’s dad not wanting to leave DD by himself, so it’s likely he hung back.  After a short discussion with Father, we made our way back into the hospital hallway.  Our friends and family members greeted us.  I hugged many.  I was very aware that this wasn’t just my loss.  People all around me were hurting.  This was a son, brother, grandchild, cousin, nephew, teammate, and friend.  I started thinking of my sister and all the rest of my family.  Had anyone told them yet?  Do I call people?  Should I go back into the room with Dalton?  How is Tyler?

Time crept by at a tormenting, slow pace.  The grief came in extreme waves.  I thought rationally for a minute or two, accompanied by bursts of anger, followed by fits of tears.  I wanted to console my mother, Troy’s dad, the kids… I just didn’t know how.  It was getting late.  A tall, kind gentleman from Headley Funeral Home showed up to talk with us.  Calm and consolatory, he told us what was going to happen next.  A vehicle would be at the hospital soon that would transport Dalton to the funeral home.  We could choose to stay with his body until then, or go on home.  I needed to think about what day I would like to hold the rosary and funeral.  Did I have family that would come into town? He said I need not to worry, and that my son was in excellent care.  Tomorrow he would be all cleaned up and I could come visit him.

Fear pierced my soul.  How do we go home without him?  DD hated being alone.  Someone always had to be at the house when he was home.  Home.  He would never, ever go home again.  It would take a long time before I would be able to understand that he really was “home.”  At that point in time, I was far from accepting that Dalton was at peace.  After thanking everyone for coming to the hospital, we agreed to have Troy’s parents wait with Dalton.  Leaving him that night was like nothing I can describe.  Excruciating pain wouldn’t adequately describe that feeling. The looks on Troy and the kid’s faces reflected my own.  We were so broken.  I placed kisses on the body of my son, lingering for what felt like eternity on the top of his head and walked back out those double doors.

We climbed back into the jeep to drive that horrible drive home.  We got about halfway home when my good friend, Father Sam Pinkerton, called.  The emotions started back up again.  Father Sam had known Dalton since birth and baptized him as an infant.  I could feel the pain in his voice, which opened up the very fresh wounds of my own heartache.  He immediately said he would like to be the co-celebrant at DD’s funeral.  He told me he loved me and that he would come by the house in the morning.  Despite the torment, I hung up the phone and a beautiful thought entered my mind.  I felt blessed to be a Catholic Christian.  I knew I wasn’t alone.

Pulling into our driveway, there were cars parked everywhere.  Again, emotions rose up inside me.  I knew our friends were there waiting on us.  We parked our car in the garage and got out.  I remember Colton punching the refrigerator and seeing a picture magnet fall and shatter into pieces.  We walked past it and entered the house.  We must have had 20 or 30 people waiting on us.  Not a sound came from anyone as we came into the kitchen.  No one knew what to say.  It moved me to know they were there in support of us.  I saw food everywhere.  I had no desire to eat, but insisted the kids have something.  The first person that walked over to hold me was my son’s longtime friend, Breck.  It hurt bad.  I wanted to take away his pain too.  But I knew there was nothing I could do.  Just two days earlier, I had scolded Dalton for chasing Breck in the house, shooting him with his air soft gun (a common occurrence).

Many of Troy’s friends were there to console him.  I was so grateful for that.  Colton’s buddies were there also and tried their best to watch over him.  I think Keely went up to her room.  My dear friends (Shannon, Cheryl and Lori) were there for me.  We hugged, cried, and talked.  They didn’t try to fix anything, they just listened.  I asked them over and over when Missy would be there, as I knew she was driving home from an out of town Collegiate football game.  Troy wanted to go to the bedroom, so most of our company left.  I think some of Troy’s family might have been at the house, I’m not sure.  I remember excusing myself for a bit to call my dad in Springfield.  He wanted to say something to comfort me, but could only express how sorry he was and that he would be in town the next day.  Missy arrived late.  The expression on her face said everything.  I knew she had been crying.  She’s known my son since birth.  Her own son, Canon, was his best friend.  The girls and I sobbed and held each other.  The strength of our friendship just ascended to a new level.

I didn’t want to leave Troy alone in the bedroom.  I decided to go to bed.  I walked past Dalton’s little basketball goal, the four basketballs I had told him to put up earlier that day, a pair of his shoes, and walked into my room.   He had always shared a bathroom with us.  His deodorant, toothbrush and face wash sat beside Troy’s sink.   I took my contacts out, put on my pajamas, and crawled into bed with my husband.  We held each other and sobbed convulsively.  I looked and him and asked him how we were ever going to make it through this.  He said he didn’t know.  I shed more tears and said I didn’t want God to have Dalton yet, that it wasn’t right.  I tried to pray and found I couldn’t form any clear thoughts.  All I could do was petition God.  I prayed for Him to give me strength.

“I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle.  I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.” – Mother Teresa