Here Comes Cameron

“Here comes Cameron,” we’d say.

Over the years we’ve attended dozens of Friday night football games at our daughter’s high school. We’d settle in the parent’s section on cold, hard bleachers, primarily there to support the marching band of which they were both members. The band students gathered in the adjoining section playing pep tunes, cheering for the team, talking and laughing endlessly. They were a close group of friends.

Invariably, somewhere along the line a tall lanky fellow bounded up the steps and plopped down beside us. Cameron was comfortable talking to anyone. If I saw him at the grocery store where he worked part-time, he’d stop whatever he was doing to come over and say hello. When yard work piled up beyond our ability to manage it ourselves, Cameron would round up a friend or two and come work alongside us, doing the heavy lifting.

He was always on the go, full of more dreams, plans, and goals than some people dare in a lifetime. And there was just enough adolescent mischief mixed in to make him entirely human.

When we learned of his death in a motorcycle accident at the age of 20, we were devastated. Time has passed since that heartbreaking day and our grief has begun to heal. In its place are precious memories of this special young man.

Look out heaven, here comes Cameron.