Dwyer High's Matthew Elam turns pain into motivation: Siblings deaths push prep star to live life to fullest

Siblings' deaths push Dwyer star to live life to the fullest

By Staff Writer Stacy Hicklin Staff photo by Robert Duyos

August 28, 2008

He doesn't hesitate to reveal his passion.

It's the one part of his life he doesn't guard tightly or reserve for only those in his inner circle. He can't.

Football is Matthew Elam's safe haven. Where in the midst of violent hits, extreme pressure and intense scrutiny, he finds his moment of peace.

For some players, the sport is a way of life. For Elam, a junior at Dwyer High, it's a way to deal with life. And all that life has thrown at him in just 16 years.

Many teenagers spend their high school years worrying about fitting in, finding the right person to date and what their future will hold.

Elam worries most about having to see his mom in pain again and watching the tears covering her cheeks. He fears attending another funeral of a family member or letting down those closest to him. It bothers him he never said "I love you" to his brother again before he died.

"If it wasn't for God in this family, we wouldn't be able to face day after day after all we've gone through," said Addie Elam-Lewis, Elam's mother, who has buried two children.

Revisiting the pain

As school let out on a Friday in May, Elam received a phone call from a basketball teammate. He's heard Elam's older brother Donald Elam, 33, had been shot and killed.

A call home confirmed the news. His family refused to let him drive home in his emotional state and sent his sister Mary to pick him up.

Suddenly, Elam was thrown into a familiar state: mourning a sibling. Nine years ago, Elam's sister, Christina, was shot and killed in his Riviera Beach neighborhood. She was 12.

Elam will never forget the day Christina died. His older brother Abram, who now plays for the New York Jets, had just settled in at the kitchen table to do his homework. Elam, who was 8, sat quietly in front of the TV.

Their tranquil situation was interrupted by a hurried knock on the door. A friend of Abram's rushed over to tell the family that Christina had been shot. Abram sprinted out the door to find his sister. Elam ran after him before his mother could catch him.

For many years, Elam buried the pain of his sister's death deep inside himself. It was a subject he could rarely talk about, much less deal with.

With the murder of his brother this summer, those feelings bubbled to the surface again.

Put it to use

This time, Elam refused to let the pain eat at him.

"I let [his death] motivate me," Elam said. "I've seen my mom lose children and she can't lose any more, so I have to stay positive. And I have to work hard so my mom can see me make it."

Elam committed himself to the weight room and conditioning like he never has before. He met his half-brother Terry Bradden (quarterback at Inlet Grove) for 6 a.m. beach workouts followed by evenings of more sprints and lifting with his new teammates at Dwyer.

The tears turned into sweat and the sweat into 10 additional pounds of muscle on an already-chiseled body.

While Elam tries to conceal his pain, it is visible each day. Written on his white cleats are phrases such as: RIP Don II, Donald Runner #2 RIP (a brother who was shot and killed four years before Elam was born), Christyboo #22, Free Kude (a cousin in jail).

He changed his number to 22 this season in honor of Christina, who used that number while playing sports.