On October 10, 1996, my world filled with the wonderful joy of the birth of my son, Dustin Tyler Edwards. My son was a bundle of happiness who sparked smiles from everyone with whom he came in contact. He made the gloomiest of days feel like springtime in the park. His smile reached from ear to ear; his laughter bellowed through every heart; and thus, my son, the angel was born. Just like that, this little boy brought a glow to my life and made all of my stresses seem distant.
On February 22, 2001, that glow in my life started to fade as I found out that my son, along with his mother, step-father, and step-brother (also just four years old) were all involved in a serious car accident. Dustin’s mother and step-brother died at the scene. Dustin’s step-father died nine hours later at the University of Arkansas Medical Sciences Hospital, and Dustin was flown to Arkansas Children’s Hospital.
Upon my arrival at the hospital, I was immediately rushed by doctors to tell me of the seriousness of his injuries. All I wanted to do was to see my son. I was escorted to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit where my son was being treated. It was cold in the PICU. In the blink of an eye, the glow in my life had disappeared. My world came crashing down as I saw my son attached to every tube they had available, casts on both of his legs, and lacerations on his face. The room now was much smaller. The air was much thinner. And, for a moment, I thought that it was only a dream. This was not a dream. This was a nightmare of epic proportions, and I did not know how to get from this nightmare to the reality of holding my son in my arms again like a normal father and son.
As this traumatic reality set in, I sat there by his side, all of the time, and talked to him and told him that I loved him and that it was time to go home to Daddy’s house. The doctors periodically pulled me away to tell me that my son’s condition was worsening and that I needed to make a decision about how I wanted to handle his life. “His life,” I said, “is a precious one, and you need to do everything you can to help him because I will not leave until he goes home with me.” The doctors informed me that he was not properly restrained in a child safety seat, but only buckled in a lap belt. I became very angry. It wouldn’t help because there was nothing that I could do—the damage had already occurred.
As the next day settled in, I had all of Dustin’s dinosaurs brought from my house to put on his bed, and we talked about the different names of the dinosaurs. Did you know that he could name about 23 dinosaurs? We talked about Alosaurus, Stegosaurus, T-Rex, and Oviraptor. I made sure that my son knew that I was there to help him with the names and that I was never leaving his side.
After about two days, there were some final testing procedures to measure his brain activity. I watched with my Mom and Dad as they performed these tests. The only response was my son’s eyelid flickered for only a brief second. It was then that I came to realize that it was over and there was nothing more to do but make my decision. This decision has changed my life considerably, and I hope that no other parent has to go through this kind of decision. It was a decision to stop life support and let my son go home.
I told my mom and dad that I wanted to be alone with Dustin and I told the doctors that I wanted to hold him one last time before they stopped life support. During that time I comforted him, told him that I loved him, and told him that I was proud of him. As I said those wonderful things to my son, the doctors took him off of life support. For a moment I felt my son’s last heartbeat and the coldness of his body plunge downward. I started to cry, “Oh Dustin! My beautiful little boy!” I started to sing to him and talk to him about his dinosaurs. After a while, my mom and dad came in and I looked at my mom and said, “I have lost the best thing that has ever happened to me; I have lost my baby.”
On Saturday, February 25, 2001 at 12:55 AM, Dustin slipped away and there was nothing that I could do anymore for this beautiful four-year-old little boy. I said my final goodbyes and kissed him on the forehead and said, “I’ll see you later.” And, all at once, my reality with my son was gone forever and we could now only live in dreams and memories. On February 28, 2001, I buried my son with his dinosaurs and an Army “dog tag” so he could find his way to his Great Grandad in heaven and they can both watch all of us together from the sky.
I frequently talk to Dustin, and every time I find a penny on the ground I know that he is watching me and talking to me in some sort of fashion. Every morning I wake up, I tell my son hello. Every Christmas I wish my son a Merry Christmas. And, every birthday I wish my son a Happy Birthday. Dustin is gone now, but it is through his memory and spirit that I convey the following message to parents, caregivers, and state legislators:
The loss of a child is very real, so we must put an end to unintentional injury and death by changing our ways of thinking. We must make child passenger restraint laws that really count to ensure the future of our most prized possessions.
Please visit the Dustin's Dinosaurs web site to learn more about this exceptional child and how this tragic event has changed the lives of his family.
Dustin's Dinosaurs
We are Dustin's Dinosaurs. Dustin was our good friend and we played with him all the time. Dustin knew all our names from Brachiosaurus to Tyrannosaurus. He took us everywhere he went. We played with him at the playground, in his room, and he even took us with him when he had his bath.
But one day we had to go to the hospital with him. We sat at the foot of his bed while we watched his doctors, family and friends. We didn't like this day because we had to say goodbye to our very good friend and playmate. We could not go with Dustin this time because he was going to a very special place called Heaven. We know we must stay here to tell everyone about our good friend and to tell everyone that it is very important that little boys and girls be in child safety seats when they ride in their cars.
Four-year old Dustin was only buckled in a lapbelt, and we dinosaurs believe that if he had been in a booster seat, his chances for survival would have increased significantly. His mother, step-father, and step-brother all died because they, too, were not properly restrained in the van. We miss our friend Dustin very much and wish he were here today to play with us.
On October 10, 1996, my world filled with the wonderful joy of the birth of my son, Dustin Tyler Edwards. My son was a bundle of happiness who sparked smiles from everyone with whom he came in contact. He made the gloomiest of days feel like springtime in the park. His smile reached from ear to ear; his laughter bellowed through every heart; and thus, my son, the angel was born. Just like that, this little boy brought a glow to my life and made all of my stresses seem distant.
As the next day settled in, I had all of Dustin’s dinosaurs brought from my house to put on his bed, and we talked about the different names of the dinosaurs. Did you know that he could name about 23 dinosaurs? We talked about Alosaurus, Stegosaurus, T-Rex, and Oviraptor. I made sure that my son knew that I was there to help him with the names and that I was never leaving his side.
The loss of a child is very real, so we must put an end to unintentional injury and death by changing our ways of thinking. We must make child passenger restraint laws that really count to ensure the future of our most prized possessions.
Dustin's Dinosaurs
