Nearly a year ago, I lost my 7-year-old son, Dylan. It was my worst nightmare come to life, as I returned home from work one night to find that he had accidentally drowned in the hot tub I had recently purchased. I experienced severe depression and had trouble getting through each day. And as the months passed, I slowly began to cope with my grief, but I also came to a realization: I guess I’ll probably have to devote my life to teaching people about hot tub safety now.
The pain of losing a child is truly unimaginable, so surely I’m now expected to try to prevent other hot tub–related deaths. I will probably spend the next few years writing books about the dangers of hot tubs or doing speaking engagements at schools across the country promoting hot tub safety. I guess it’s my job to become an advocate for all hot tub–based awareness.
…pretty soon, people will look at me on the street and say, “Hey, isn’t that the hot tub lady?”
I suppose I’ll have to go on TV and talk about hot tubs and pour every ounce of my life into hot tub–related endeavors. It’s also inevitable that I’ll have to resign from my full-time job, because, well, I guess I’ll be focused on hot tub stuff from here on out.
I’m probably going to need to start a foundation too. Something along the lines of “Dylan’s Project” or “The Jacuzzi Awareness Foundation.” After that, I’ll likely do some sort of hot tub awareness telethon, and the next time a kid drowns in a hot tub, I’ll be expected to make a statement. And pretty soon, people will look at me on the street and say, “Hey, isn’t that the hot tub lady?”
Dylan was the light of my life, and I miss him every day. I pray that I could see his smiling face just one more time. But much like the realist in me has come to accept that the next 20 years of my life will be consumed by talking about hot tubs, it’s also come to accept that seeing his face again is pretty unfeasible. And I guess that’s fine.