Dylan Michael Kimmett

Dylan Michael Kimmett, age 18, laid down his armor and slipped away on June 12, 2025, after a successful life in being unknowable.

Dylan was not your average mortal. Born on December 4, 2006, under a mysterious alignment of stars, he entered the world silently judging everyone—until he learned to talk. After that, he just said it. And never really stopped.

He was brilliant without trying to be, stubborn like it was a competitive sport, and kind in a rare, quiet way that often goes unnoticed. He could be sharp as glass, soft as his favorite blanket, or gone like vapor when the moment got too much. He existed in layers—some laughter, some grief, some code written in a language only he could decipher. He showed love through mystery, kindness through sarcasm, and emotion through long, winding monologues and debates.

His mind was a universe of shifting fascinations: from trumpet and tennis to coding and car repair; from geopolitics and religion to retro video games, LEGO sets, and lovingly sarcastic debates. He loved Futurama, dominated in Mario Party 8, was a ketchup sommelier, and enjoyed quietly building intricate Minecraft worlds. He wore suits when no one else did and often towered over crowds like a well-dressed cryptid.

He reinvented himself constantly—his ever-evolving dreams taking him down a winding road of self-discovery. Every version of him was real. Every version mattered.

Though intensely private and hard to read, Dylan loved deeply. He showed affection in ways that, from anyone else, might go unnoticed—but from him, meant everything. He adored his siblings—especially his big sister Trinity and her beloved Callie—and he loved his friends in a way that showed in every photo: arms slung over shoulders, light in his eyes, present in a way that words don’t quite capture. He treasured driving—his (many, many) cars symbolizing the freedom and independence he fought so hard to claim in his life.

And though he often struggled with connection, when he felt understood, he lit up in a way that made the whole world feel brighter.

Dylan fought hard to stay in a world that didn’t always make space for who he was. He fought with everything he had, far longer than most ever knew. And even in leaving, he tried to shield others from the weight of the pain he carried.

He is survived by his mother, Haley Anderson; his father and stepmother, James and Keli Kimmett; and his siblings: Kya (Chris) Chapman, Trinity Kimmett, Heydon Conrad, Clinton Hardin, and Annellise Junod—along with a constellation of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who will never forget the impact he made.

We’ll be gathering to tell stories, chase the laughter, and try to hold the impossible fullness of him while once again trying to figure him out. And we’ll share the things that matter— preferably with uncomfortable honesty and a little sarcasm. Dylan would’ve rolled his eyes... and quietly appreciated it.

The service to both mourn and celebrate Dylan’s life will be held at Wilks Funeral Home on Friday, June 20th. A viewing will take place from 3:00 to 4:00 PM, with a service and reception to follow.

In lieu of flowers, the family invites you to plant a tree in Dylan’s name using the "Plant a Tree" button above. But more than that—check in on the people you love. Especially the ones who act like they don’t need you. Support mental health however you can. Listen harder. Ask twice. Love people in the way they can feel it.

Dylan taught us that. And for those who knew him, he still is.

If you find yourself suddenly missing him—good. That means you got to know him. And that is something worth carrying.

And if you’re ever alone at night and the air feels just a little smarter... that’s Dylan. Probably judging your choices.

Memories and condolences may be shared with the family in the guestbook section below.