Cameron Dylan Matthews

Cameron Dylan Matthews March 7, 2004 – November 12, 2023 

I went into labor with you in the movie theater watching Passion of the Christ. You could read a person's soul, and you knew exactly what someone needed—whether it was comfort or a challenge to bring them closer to God. I listened to God in raising you, and I tried so hard to get others to do the same. I knew your time was limited, and you knew it too. You told me you would die in your sleep and before you reached 21 years of age. Who knew it would be something as silent and invisible as a simple turn-on of your heater, and in a matter of seconds, your vehicle would fill with carbon monoxide? Your exhaust had broken from riding in the desert. You and your friends zip-tied it back on, but eventually, it fell off. You were changing the seats in your car and had removed your speakers, in the middle of replacing them with different ones. The broken exhaust was going directly into your car, slowly poisoning you over a period of two weeks. Just a few days prior, you and a friend had gotten sick from sitting in the car—you both couldn’t breathe until you got out, and you started coughing really badly. You told your grandma that you felt dizzy and just needed to lie down the day before you passed away. The night of your death, you went to a bonfire in the desert. After you left the bonfire, you never returned home. When you turned on your heater, the vehicle filled with carbon monoxide and removed what little oxygen you had left because you had been slowly poisoned over the prior two weeks. Carbon monoxide binds to hemoglobin and prevents the oxygen from recovering, so your oxygen levels just continued to decrease. The atmosphere that night was cold with absolutely no wind. You were found with your seat belt still on and the car running. The whole time, I thought you were sleeping at my parents’ house, as that was the last place I knew you were tucked in for the night. You were going to get up and help me hang Christmas lights when I returned from Prescott Valley, before you went to work. It wasn’t until I received the call from a dear friend around noon… Your death certificate reads “accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.” You lived life fully and never missed a single day to be with the people you loved—and they loved being with you. You lived the best dash a 19-year-old could ever live! As you have always said, "God made me your mom for a reason," and "It Is What It Is," and "You Only Know What You Know Until You Know Something Different," and "I’ll Sleep When I Die." I’m going to add one more now… "Just Keep Moving Forward." We love you, and YOU are deeply missed. ❤️❤️