YSU Family remembers son, brother as they receive his degree for him

The degree will be given in recognition of a life that ended too soon.
By NORMAN LEIGH
VINDICATOR EDUCATION WRITER
HUBBARD -- Those who knew Dustin Keryan wonder now if it all was somehow preordained.
They reflect on the angelic nature he possessed as a child and how, years later, he signed a friend's 21st birthday card, saying he wished 21 was the age he always could be.
They ponder a line from the poem to his fianc & eacute;e he had penned. "There is no goodbye," Dustin wrote, not knowing the words would be read at his funeral.
Sickness returned
The poem was written before the dizziness, the headaches and the vomiting that had troubled him about a year ago returned in late May, this time with lethal intensity.
His mother, Debbie, sat in the quiet kitchen of her Hubbard Township home Friday and shared those thoughts as the clock ticked and her husband, Pat, paced about, the hurt still so raw he couldn't bring himself to speak.
Outside, rain collected on the swimming pool deck Dustin and his father had built. Tomatoes had been placed on a railing to ripen, but it was too gloomy.
Dustin died July 5 of a brain tumor. He was 21.
Today, his family was to gather at Youngstown State University to accept the bachelor's degree in criminal justice that he was trying to earn while working a mall security job.
He wanted to be a police officer. Maybe even an FBI agent one day. Those who knew him never doubted he would succeed.
Sitting at the kitchen table, wearing jeans and a red, white and blue summery blouse, his mother nervously interlaced her fingers and spoke carefully. Her eyes welled as she willed herself to master fragile emotions and tried to convey what can only be truly understood by those who have gone through it.
"It's day to day," she said. "Some days are better than others."
Memories
They draw strength from their memories.
Dustin had a big heart and helped others. He made friends easily. Anything he undertook was done with energy and dedication. He was special.
Even as his own life was ebbing, he showed bravery by consoling his sister, Lauren, 16. "He told her it would be OK," his mother recalled.
Those thoughts are helpful when the grief seems suffocating and lasting, and makes them all wonder how they're going to get through their lives without him.
"It's like part of you dies," Debbie said. "You have this pain that won't go away. You almost feel guilty being happy."
But you push on, she added, just like Dustin would have wanted.
You accept his college degree for him. You join an organization made up of parents who have lost children and who try to console one another, like survivors of some unspeakable war.
You start a memorial fund in your son's name. You tell people to cherish each moment spent with those they love because you never know.
You remember your son and you smile, even if it hurts.
leigh@vindy.com