Late one evening, about a week before Christmas, I was wrapping presents in my bedroom and realized I was out of paper. I tried to recall where I had put my leftover wrapping paper from the year before. Caught up in the spirit of the holidays, my demeanor was euphoric that night. I only had a couple presents left to wrap and then I would be done for the year. Leaving Troy to snuggle with our dogs in the bedroom, I went on a search that took me to the hallway drawers near the kitchen. The very first drawer I opened was full of birthday and Christmas wrapping paper. Bingo. I reached for the roll in the back and my fingers found something else. It was a brown paper bag with a case number written on the side. Damn it, the bag. I knew what was inside. Days after the accident, I had asked my sister and sister-n-law to hide it when the sheriff officers brought it to me because I was not stable enough to look at its contents. In an act of curiosity and self-torture, I decided open it. There they were. A single Adidas flip-flop, the orange gloves with the grass stuck to them, and the ski mask that had been obviously cut off of his head. I tenderly took the mask out and turned it over and inside out. Taking a deep breath in, I trace my fingers over the blood, hair and tissue of my son that still remained on the inside of that mask. I crouched down in that hallway and wept for some time, doing my best to ride out the tempestuous storm of grief that tried to devour me whole.

Several times over the past couple months, people who had never met Dalton have shared with me what a difference he has made in their lives. It intrigues me. How can that be? Do they realize he’s been gone for over a year now? As I sit here on my laptop at the site of the accident, I wonder what it is about him that is still having an effect on people 14 months after his death.

In early December, a gentleman in his early 40’s asked to stop by our house to visit with Troy and I. He was raised in Augusta and we had many mutual friends. We had no idea what the visit was going to be about. Brian looked a bit nervous when we first sat down to talk, but he settled in after a few minutes. His purpose for stopping by was to share with us how he felt a spiritual bond with Dalton. Struggling to explain it in words, Brian said he had this overwhelming feeling like he knew Dalton. Through knowing our son in a spiritual sense, he felt his faith growing and he was coming to peace with many aspects of his life. How does one explain that?

On Christmas Eve, a freshman at Trinity Academy in Wichita, wrote this on Dalton’s last Instagram post: “Dalton, your physical death was just the beginning. The work that you are doing in the hearts and minds of those you loved has gone far beyond anything any human can fathom of doing alive. I stand as a living example. I have never met you, but today, I am sure I know you. I know your story, and I know how God has worked through you. You have impacted far more lives than you ever dreamed of while you were here.” That was only one part of the young man’s comment.

Another inexplicable difference Dalton has made in someone’s life was recently when the mother of one of his good friend’s called me to say she had been given the opportunity to study in an exotic location as part of working towards a dream occupation. How it came to be was a beautiful story of many difference pieces of a puzzle coming together to fit just right. For whatever reason, Bethany called me as soon as she got the news. Through hurried speech, I was able to make out most of it. Something told her that Dalton played a part in this new adventure she was about to undertake and she couldn’t hold back the urge to share the news. She wasn’t sure why she had the feeling, it was just there. While I listened on the phone, I couldn’t help but wonder if it were possible that Dalton was able to aid people on earth to receive blessings such as Bethany’s? I didn’t understand how that would be feasible, yet I wasn’t ready to rule anything out.

Let’s make it clear that my Dalton was a far cry from being a saint in his 13 years. He could be selfish, prideful, and spoiled at times. Those are pretty normal attributes of a teenager I suppose. On the flip side, he was loyal, loving, and very bright. Again, those adjectives could describe many kids. So if you combine those six elements of Dalton you might deduct that he was pretty ordinary. Here is what I have discovered: God loves the ordinary. Like a potter molding his clay, God takes the ordinary and has a tendency to turn them into the extraordinary. After all, weren’t the apostles pretty ordinary guys? How about the more prominent figures of the Old Testament? Born to an undistinguished family, Gideon was used by God to defeat the Midianites after years of oppression with only 300 men. Raised in a farming community as a shepherd boy, David ascended to the position of King of Israel. Although I understand these men were chosen by God to witness to the faith in their flesh, why can’t He continue to minister to His people through the departed? I believe angels do that type of work all the time, but why not the souls of the faithfully departed as well? Who is to say they can’t intervene to a certain degree?

If it were Dalton’s close friends who believed they were experiencing an intimate spiritual connection with him since his passing, then that would make sense. Instead, three people who have had limited contact with him during his earthly life all believe that something wonderful is in store for them through his intercession. I wonder if anyone else has ever felt this way after losing a loved one? As Dalton’s mom, I feel him near me all the time. I talk and cry to him often. I rarely hear his voice speak back, but when I do it has a hint of mild irritation as though to say, “Mom, I said I’m fine.” It comforts me, allowing me to see him differently in my mind today. Most of the time I am able to replace the broken body with the thin white sheet pulled up to the chin with the strong, goofy, always smiling vision of my boy. I see less flash-backs, and more flash-forwards. While the sting of Dalton’s death remains, the promise I have been given to reunite with his resurrected body gives me the strength to endure the present pain and cling to the hope of holding him once again.