John,
"The day when hell came to my school." That's how Jake, my surviving son, describes Dec. 14, 2012. I remember how relieved I felt when I found Jake at the firehouse that morning – but I still struggle to accept that my beautiful butterfly Dylan is gone forever.
Even after those of us left at the firehouse were told that our loved ones weren't coming back, I didn't believe Dylan was dead. Even after they asked what he had been wearing, so they could identify his body. Even after the police and a priest came to my house in the middle of the night to confirm they had found Dylan's little body in his first-grade classroom, in the arms of his special-education aide.
Tomorrow marks eight years since Dylan was murdered, but I still can't believe it. He was so full of life. I still sometimes find myself looking in my car's rear-view mirror, expecting to see Dylan smiling back at me.
John, I'm not telling you this so you'll feel bad for me – I'm telling you because I need your help in protecting other children from gun violence, in saving other parents from this never-ending pain. So even though I wish I could curl up and let this week pass, doing everything possible to avoid thinking about tomorrow – I have to keep working. I have to ask you for your help reaching our fundraising goal.
We're still falling short, so will you please donate now – before our midnight deadline – to help prevent more tragedies?
Sometimes I think I must be dreaming all of this, that it never happened. There's a strange moment every morning when I wake up and, for a brief second, everything is how it used to be. But reality always comes. I realize all over again that my beautiful butterfly Dylan is gone forever.
The only way I can move forward is by building a legacy for Dylan, and by doing all that I can to protect other children from gun violence. Your support helps me do that work, and I can't thank you enough.
With love,
Nicole Hockley (Dylan's mom)
