A Special Character

A Eulogy for My Son, Layne Gerber-Rogers

I recently shared the experience of my son Layne’s stay in the hospital. Thank you all for the overwhelming support. He fought like a champion to get well enough to come home. Unfortunately, one day after homecoming, he had a serious setback and wound up back in the hospital. Despite a valiant effort, Layne’s body succumbed to the illness - surrounded by loving family - on Sunday, January 21. I delivered the following eulogy at his memorial service Monday, January 29. Thank you to the HoosLeft community for understanding the lack of new content the last several weeks and for grace as I work myself back into form.

Good evening. On behalf of his mother - Jen Gerber, her husband & Layne’s stepdad, Jason Anderson; my wife & Layne’s stepmom, Allison Knight; his godparents, Jason Baumgartner and Sean Frew, who have loved him as their own - my name is Scott Aaron Rogers and I am Layne’s father. Thank you for your presence here tonight; for your support and condolences in this difficult time, and for the warmth and affection you showered on Layne during his life. We've been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from Layne’s extended community. We have strangers sending us soup!

When Layne came into this world, his limbs floppy, hips dislocated, he was unable to feed and had the feeblest little cry. I think we all knew it was possible, if not probable, that he would travel a more difficult, and probably shorter, road than most. There were moments in his first days that were touch and go. There were months spent in the NICU. There were so many operations, surgeries, and procedures - each carrying its own risk - we girded ourselves against this terrible prospect every time. Still, despite grasping the odds on a logical level and steeling oneself repeatedly, nothing can prepare your heart for the grief of losing a child.

The fundamental unfairness of such a sweet, innocent soul tasked with overcoming so much.

The moral cruelty of terrible, monstrous, unfeeling people living long, full, healthy lives while our beautiful boy was taken so soon.

We can cry, and flail, and scream at the injustice of it all - and I have. And on the bad days, I will. Forever.

But I want to focus on the marvel, the wonder, the supernatural phenomenon that was Layne’s life. Though he was fragile of body, he was strong of spirit He may have struggled to lift five pounds, but he could lift a room with his laugh. Although he relied on his wheelchair to move around, he inspires and moves all of us with his heart.

Now, everybody knows how much Layne loved video games. He had a controller in his hands since he was big enough to hold one. I don’t know if anyone is still arguing that gaming rots kids’ brains or whatever, but for Layne, it was a lifeline - something he could do just like any other kid. In virtual worlds - unencumbered by gravity - he could run and jump, fly and swim, drive and explore. In some games, the protagonist collects stars, or gemstones, or shards of the Triforce. Layne collected love. Imagine if you will, a little heart icon in the corner of your screen.

We’ve been spending a lot of time in the hospital, so I’ve been thinking about the healthcare workers. And I think about all the many people - doctors, nurses, aides, janitors - who’ve cared for Layne over the years. Children’s. Riley. Manning. His pediatrician; dentist; specialists; therapists of all kinds; everybody - in every office, hospital, and clinic - fell in love with that sweet little boy with the bright blue eyes. And they all, in their own ways, added little bits of love to the heart meter.

You see, in a lot of games, the player’s heart meter counts down. Game over. Not Layne. His heart meter filled up. He’s a special character. The kind you have to put in a button combo to open up. Or find behind a secret door at the end of a dark labyrinth. Premium DLC. A unique build. A rare Pokémon.

I think of all the teachers, counselors, assistants, administrators, and others who have added their love through his education. It is an unfortunate fact that many people infantilize or project feeblemindedness onto those with physical disabilities, but Layne was so fortunate to be surrounded by educators who saw the bright, capable, young man he was. At Templeton Elementary, the multi-age classroom of Kevin Gallagher and Risē Reinier was a wonderful experiment in learning, the perfect place for him, and just such a loving environment. The class maintains a food garden outside the school, and we intend to plant a fruit tree there in Layne’s memory - so he might share the joy he felt in that place in perpetuity .

His paraeducator at Templeton, Connie Eggleston, deserves a special mention. She was with him every day, helping him get around the school, providing intimate care, a familiar, comforting presence soothing his anxiety. Her husband, Bill, just passed away on the 19th of this month. He loved Layne, too, and always made a special pumpkin for him at Halloween. May Connie be surrounded with as much support in her time of grief as we have been in ours.

I look back on all the people that helped Layne navigate Batchelor Middle School, and then Bloomington High School South, those that helped a shy young man find his way. I recall the swelling ovation from the whole gymnasium as Layne wheeled across the stage, a purple-gowned inspiration, to collect his diploma at graduation. Family and friends, students and strangers, generations of community rained love on our boy, further enhancing his heart power. Level up.

Layne’s video game obsession was not merely entertainment, an empty diversion, but a serious pursuit. He wasn’t just playing; he was doing research. Layne created his own characters, first simple sketches and later complex models. He build elaborate worlds filled with hidden wonders. He had just completed his first semester at Ivy Tech - all A’s and B’s - and was working his way toward a career in game design. My sister, Allison Zimpfer - Aunt Al, helped Layne acquire his first real power chair this summer - an absolute game changer, an indispensable power-up for Player One. Few things in life have been filled me with more pride than dropping him off at class and watching him drive off with an “I’ve got this” attitude and a newfound sense of independence.

Except maybe his laugh.

Nothing in the world brought me more joy than the uproarious howl Layne’s emitted when he thought something was really funny. Normally a quiet kid, these joyous outbursts were a special treat, too rich and sweet for routine consumption. With his unique features, Layne was unable to fully close his lips. Consequently, he had to invent his own workarounds and techniques for forming all the letters and sounds of the language. Too hard-working and stubborn to use assistive communication devices, with hard work and perseverance, he developed his own unique voice. And he possessed a full vocabulary, but his eyes could communicate complex ideas far beyond the power of words.

Layne was a special character.

As a gamer collects loot, Layne collected love. And his inventory overflowed with the affection you, and all the many non-playable characters he encountered, bestowed upon him in his adventure. He brought a full arsenal to the boss battle against the evil monster pneumonia this winter. And it looked as if he’d won. He battled so hard to knock back the infection. He used healing potions to work himself back to strength. He used every bit of heart energy to free himself from the clutches of the hospital.

Battle tested, our hero returned home for a hard-earned shower and shave, a good night’s sleep in his own bed.

The monster used sneak attack.

But Layne was a special character.

He battled and fought and all the players in his party depleted their repositories to give him strength.

Finally the monster prevailed.

But Layne was a special character.

All of the light and love and positive energy Layne carried with him do not die with him.

When he was little, the two of us used to play Lego Indiana Jones on the XBox. We explored every last hidden passage and unrevealed dungeon, every bonus level and special character. And when you unlock every last secret, coins, rubies, and treasure rain from the sky.

Layne was a special character. That lifetime accumulation of love, light, and energy now rain down upon us.

When I allow myself to step outside of my own misery, I think of other parents who have lost children. I think of Wael Dahdouh, the Gaza journalist who has lost much of his family in recent bombing. The anguish of losing one child is immeasurable and I cannot begin to comprehend that pain coming in multiples. His strength to continue inspires ME to continue in the face of the unfairness of it all. In THIS world, children are killed in war, written off as collateral damage. The level of grief is unfathomable.

Layne was a builder of imaginative NEW worlds. Let us all soak in the loving energy with which he showers us. And may we use that energy to build a world where no parent, anywhere, has to suffer the grief of a lost child. The kind of world where more strangers send people soup.

Layne was a creator, a modelmaker. Let us all model the humor, grace, and kindness of his character - creating loving environments around ourselves.

Layne was a special character, his life a reminder that people need each other, that a one player game might be fun, but big campaigns can only be undertaken with a party. And our party was infinitely better for having Layne in it.

Layne was a special character, a new evolution from physical form to pure loving energy.

Layne was a special character and this is not game over. This is level up

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