Remembering Dakota: Navigating Grief and the Importance of Asking for Help

I am overwhelmed with sadness over the loss of my beloved niece, Dakota Torres-O’Callaghan. The shock of her passing still lingers, and it’s difficult to find words to fully express my grief. Just a few weeks ago, I was looking forward to celebrating her graduation from Sac State. Instead, I found myself attending her funeral.

I could write pages about Dakota Torres-O’Callaghan’s many achievements. She was a quick learner and excelled in anything she genuinely enjoyed, and I was immensely proud of her. However, what truly distinguished Dakota was her kindness. She was one of the most caring people I have ever known, and I witnessed her thoughtfulness on numerous occasions. She consistently went out of her way to help others in need, and I especially remember how she came by to offer comfort after the passing of my grandmother, Mary Torres; my mother, Marilyn Torres; and my father, Doug Torres.

Dakota Torres-O’Callaghan was an academic leader and student advocate within the Deaf Studies program at California State University, Sacramento (Sac State). Dakota frequently represented the program by presenting on behalf of the Sac State Deaf Studies department, highlighting aspects like the ASL Lab, the bachelor’s program, and the Deaf and Hard of Hearing (DHH) teaching credential. The Deaf Studies community at Sac State gave Dakota a sense of purpose and belonging before her untimely death.

Dakota Torres-O’Callaghan was also active within the gay community. A proud lesbian, Dakota attended the Say Gay Chess Day at the Mechanics’ Institute in San Francisco. I had the honor of being the Chief Tournament Director for the event in which Dakota was the top scoring woman. 

Processing her loss has been incredibly challenging. Dakota was more than family; she was a bright light in my life. She often accompanied me to chess outings, listening patiently as my friend James Eade once said, “It doesn’t matter where you come from. It doesn’t matter what language you speak. If you play chess, you’re part of our community.” Her funeral reminded me that as chess players—and as human beings—we shouldn’t face life’s hardest struggles alone. Yet, I’ve lost friends, former students, and now my niece because they didn’t reach out for help.

If you’re struggling with thoughts of self-harm or other harmful behaviors, please know you are not alone. Reach out to someone—you don’t have to face this pain by yourself.

Personally, I will let you know if I need help. Right now, I am simply feeling overwhelmed with sadness—and that’s perfectly natural. One of my favorite people to share music and chess with is gone, and the ache is profound. But I hold onto the hope that by sharing my grief, I can honor Dakota’s memory and remind others of the importance of seeking support when needed.