The Promise to Remember

Honoring Gold Star Mother Cheryl Rex and Lance Corporal Dylan R. Merola, United States Marine Corps

Each year, our Marine Corps Benefit Dinner pauses for one of its most solemn traditions: the recognition of a Gold Star Mother. Amid the music, fellowship, celebration, and ceremony, we turn our attention to a mother who has borne a cost most of us can scarcely imagine. It is an honor we bestow with reverence, but “Gold Star Mother” is not a title any mother seeks. It is a distinction created by loss—the loss of a son or daughter who died while serving our country. This year, we honor Cheryl Rex, the mother of Lance Corporal Dylan R. Merola, United States Marine Corps.

The gold star has been part of America’s vocabulary of sacrifice since the First World War. Families displayed service banners in their windows, placing a blue star on the banner for each member of the household serving in the Armed Forces. When a service member died, a gold star was placed over the blue. In 1928, Grace Darling Seibold, whose son George had been killed during World War I, joined with other bereaved mothers to establish American Gold Star Mothers. In 1936, Congress designated the last Sunday in September as Gold Star Mother’s Day, an observance now known as Gold Star Mother’s and Family’s Day.

The gold star was placed over the blue star, but it did not erase it. That remains a fitting image. Death did not erase the service, the pride, the love, or the life represented by the blue star. The gold star made the sacrifice visible and asked the nation to remember.

History can explain the origin of the symbol, but it cannot fully describe what it means to the mother who must wear it. For her, the gold star is not an abstraction. It has a name, a face, a voice, a birthday, and a place forever missing at the family table.

For Cheryl Rex, that name is Dylan.

Dylan Merola was born on April 23, 2001, and grew up in Rancho Cucamonga, California. From an early age, he wanted to become a United States Marine. After graduating from high school, he enlisted and completed recruit training at Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. He was assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, at Camp Pendleton. He was not simply wearing a uniform chosen for him by circumstance. He had pursued a dream and earned the right to call himself a Marine.

In August 2021, Dylan was sent to Kabul, Afghanistan, during the final and desperate evacuation from Hamid Karzai International Airport. At Abbey Gate, Marines and other American service members stood between frightened civilians and the violence closing in around them. Their mission was not theoretical. They were searching crowds, maintaining security, lifting children, and helping people reach safety.

On August 26, 2021, while helping a child to safety, Dylan was killed in the bombing at Abbey Gate. He was only 20 years old and was one of 13 American service members lost in the attack. He had been in Kabul for less than two weeks. Beyond the Marine Corps, he had plans to attend college and study engineering. His life was filled with service, but it was also filled with possibilities that had only begun to unfold.

Twenty is an age that should belong to beginnings. It should be a time for choosing a college, building a career, discovering the world, making mistakes, and imagining a future without being able to see its limits. Dylan was old enough to stand his post in one of the most dangerous places on earth, yet young enough to have most of his dreams still waiting for him.

That is part of what a Gold Star Mother carries. She grieves not only the life that was lost, but also the life that should have followed—the graduations, celebrations, ordinary conversations, holidays, careers, marriages, and years that will never come. The world continues to move, but a part of her heart remains with the young man whose age will never change.

Yet Dylan’s life should not be defined solely by the place where it ended. He was more than a name among the 13 killed at Abbey Gate. He was a son who made his mother proud. He was a young man with plans. He was a Marine who placed himself between danger and people who needed help. In his final mission, he was doing what had shaped his life all along: serving others.

Cheryl has accepted another mission in the years since Dylan’s death—the mission of remembrance. At the dedication of a Rancho Cucamonga freeway overpass bearing Dylan’s name, she spoke of her promise to continue telling his story. She has carried that promise into schools, memorial ceremonies, community gatherings, and conversations with people who may never have known Dylan but who now know his name.

Through Legends Live Forever, Cheryl and Dylan’s family have turned remembrance into service. The organization supports Gold Star Families, veterans, and young people while preserving Dylan’s example of courage and selflessness. Since 2024, its scholarship program has awarded more than $6,000 to students pursuing higher education—young people who demonstrate the dedication and perseverance that characterized Dylan’s own life.

No scholarship can replace the education Dylan planned to pursue. No monument, highway sign, ceremony, or written tribute can restore the years taken from him. But each act of remembrance refuses to let his death be the final word. Every student helped in his name carries something of his unfinished future forward. Every veteran supported, every Gold Star Family comforted, and every young person encouraged becomes part of a legacy that continues to grow.

This is something Gold Star Mothers have understood for generations. They come together because there are dimensions of their grief that only another mother who has experienced the same loss can fully comprehend. They support veterans, assist military families, comfort one another, and speak the names of sons and daughters whom the passing years might otherwise allow the world to forget.

Their service does not mean that grief has ended. It means that grief has been given purpose.

When we honor Cheryl Rex, therefore, we do more than express sympathy. We recognize a mother’s continuing service. We recognize the courage required to rise each morning carrying both immeasurable pride and immeasurable sorrow. We recognize her determination to make certain that Dylan is remembered not only for the way he died, but for the person he was and the values by which he lived.

Our applause is important, but it cannot be the end of our obligation. The phrase “never forgotten” has meaning only when someone does the work of remembering. We must say the names of the fallen. We must tell their stories to generations who were not yet born when they served. We must support the families who continue to live with the consequences of their sacrifice. And we must try to embody the qualities for which they are remembered: courage, compassion, duty, and service to others.

This year, we say the name Lance Corporal Dylan R. Merola, United States Marine Corps.

His life was brief, but it was not small. At Abbey Gate, Dylan stood his post and helped others find their way to safety. Today, Cheryl stands watch over his memory, making certain that his name, his character, and his sacrifice remain alive.

That is the enduring mission of a Gold Star Mother.

Our responsibility is to share the watch.

Because legends live forever only when the living choose to remember.