Elijah Dotson cries before every game. He’s thinking about something he’ll never do again.
As his eyes well with tears, prompted by memories of what, and who, once was, they eventually pour over. Streaming down his face, the first thing each one passes is Dotson’s eye black. The right side reads “#LLT.” The left, “For TJ.”
“TJ” stands for Titus Cromer Jr. — Dotson’s childhood friend. The two grew up on the same street, having met back in the sandbox days. Titus was a little over 3 years older than Dotson. He was “a brother” to the now-Mizzou safety.
“He was a light to the room,” Dotson told Missouri On SI. “Anytime you were around him, you're gonna be laughing, you're gonna be smiling, always gonna be joking. You were always really gonna have a good time.”
The pair did everything together: they played about every sport in the book, rode bikes and played video games — you name it. Most times, they were at Dotson’s house — a house his parents refer to as the “Kool-Aid House” because all the neighborhood children hung out there. Once, Titus showed up to the house unannounced, jumped the wrought iron fence and walked through the back door only to find Dotson wasn’t home. Dotson’s parents, Donna and Charles, let Titus and the other children hang around even when their children weren’t home.
While Dotson recalls it fondly now, playing football and basketball with Titus may not always have been fun for his younger self. He never found the net in basketball, and had to put up with quite a bit of trash talk from his older opponent: Titus.
Still, Dotson looked up to Titus, so much so that he enrolled at the University of Detroit Jesuit High School and Academy in the seventh grade to be at the same school.
“He was really one of the best people to be around,” Dotson said.
The “#LLT” on the right side of Dotson’s eye black stands for “Long Live Titus.”
Titus suffered a suicide attempt in October 2019, Dotson’s seventh-grade year, and was hospitalized. Three months later, on Jan. 24, 2020, Titus died. He was 16 years old. Dotson was 13. He will never speak to or see his brother again.
The pair, once tied at the hip, are now forever apart.
“I was in a really dark spot,” Dotson said, “and, especially being that young, you don't really understand. I didn't really grow up on social media and everything. I grew up outside, so I didn't really know what it was — what mental health was. So yeah, I was in a dark spot, for sure.”
Everything became difficult for Dotson. He still attended the same school Titus did. It wasn’t easy to focus there. It wasn’t easy to focus on the practice field, either. It was the same field Titus used to take.
The turf, once filled with Titus’ liveliness, became an inescapable void filled with Dotson’s thoughts of his brother. Due to MHSAA rules, he couldn’t transfer schools without sitting out. Dotson felt stuck.
“I was really messed up for a while,” he said. “It was a hard time in my life.”
Titus was always on Dotson’s mind. The loss, understandably, was a heavy burden, one that weighed on him. Still just a kid, his world came crashing down.
Uncharacteristically, Dotson’s performance in school — where he was surrounded by constant reminders of Titus — plummeted. Grades slipped. An in-school suspension befell. And time and time again, he’d come home with news that he’d received another detention.
One night, Charles warned him not to come back with another. Donna felt “helpless” when seeing him in such pain.
Their son returned home with another detention.
Typically level-headed, Charles went ballistic: “What is going on with you?”
Dotson, sat across the table, burst into tears. Not in the way his tears trickle before kickoff at Memorial Stadium, but in response to months of pent-up emotion releasing at once. Struggling silently and alone, all he could think about was Titus. "Why?"
Charles felt horrible; Dotson perhaps worse. The two embraced immediately.
In search of a solution, Dotson’s parents asked if he wanted to enroll in counseling. Still teary-eyed, he agreed, beginning his journey of recovery.
Talking helped Dotson dig himself out of the hole. He talked with his family, his counselor and the rest of his and Titus’ shared friends about his grief. Now, he wishes he would have done it sooner.
Donna found other ways to help her son grieve, too. She threw Dotson and his friends a birthday party for Titus on his first birthday since passing, making a cake and singing “Happy Birthday” to tie it all together. Donna also made all the boys collages filled with pictures of them and Titus as children.
Eventually, Dotson figured out how to channel memories of Titus into positive energy.
“Before every practice, I think about it in a positive way,” Dotson said. “That this can help me play better. ... Even if I get angry about it, (it can) help me be angry on the field, which is always a good thing.”
Dotson got good. Quick. He played both sides of the ball in his 2023 junior season, racking up 66 tackles, three interceptions and 11 pass breakups on defense and 1,653 all-purpose yards and 18 total touchdowns on offense. He was ranked a four-star safety and the No. 2 prospect in Michigan by 247Sports.
Additionally, Dotson was a four-time AAU Junior Olympian hurdler, a two-time New Balance Nationals Indoor track All-American, one-time New Balance Nationals Indoor track All-American, one-time state champion for indoor 60-meter hurdles and a five-time All-State hurdler in a sport he competed in largely for recreation.
“Elijah's the Energizer Bunny,” Charles told Missouri On SI. “People used to … want him to sit down in class and (Donna) told him, ‘Elijah, it's OK. No coach will ever tell you that you have too much energy. That's gonna be a benefit for you.’ … Even now, he's 19 years old and he's still the Energizer Bunny.”
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Dotson has seen the success he has at Missouri: Charles calls his son a “phoenix rising from the ashes.”
'For my brother'
The tears that stream down Dotson’s face aren’t his only pregame reminder of Titus. Over in North Carolina resides Titus’ younger brother, Carter Lowry, who’s now 16 years old — the same age Titus was when he died.
Carter, a basketball player like his brother before him, has been too busy to make the trip to one of Dotson’s games this season. Instead, the pair exchange reminders via text.
“He texts me before every game, like, ‘You know who we doing this for,’” Dotson said. “Every game, I text him like, ‘We doing this for Titus. We doing this for my brother.’”
When Titus died, neither Carter nor Dotson fully understood all the emotions that came with losing him, but both lost the same brother.
“We both understood each other’s pain,” Dotson said.
Dotson, who had been a little brother of sorts to Titus, had a task to complete — one hinted at by Titus before his passing: “You and Carter are going to end up being just like you and I.”
Dotson and Carter were always close; Titus’ message held value to Dotson but wasn’t the driving factor in pushing him toward Carter. He wanted to step up to be the best big brother he could for both Carter and Layla Lowry — Titus’ younger sister — and did so while still grieving himself. Whether it’s buying them food, giving advice or cheering them up on a bad day, Dotson is there for Titus’ little siblings.
“I make sure they’re straight because they don't got him,” Dotson said. “So I kind of gotta take that role of being the big brother and making sure his family is good, making sure his little brother is good, ‘cause that's family to me.”
Added Carter: “I know that Titus was there for him, and now he’s there for me.”
Titus lives on
Off the gridiron, Dotson can be seen wearing a chain with a photograph of Titus. This one is new, sparkling, but he’s had plenty of iterations before. Each morning, Dotson puts the chain around his neck, bringing Titus with him as he goes about his day.
He’ll always be with Dotson.
“Every day I wake up, I know who I'm doing it for,” Dotson said.
On game days, Dotson sports his eye black with the messages about Titus.
But Titus isn’t just with Dotson physically. Bits and pieces of him remain embedded into Dotson’s personality despite the nearly 7 years it’s been since Titus’ death.
“He always talked trash, and that's really how I am now,” Dotson said. “So, you get used to it, and it makes it easier down the line, and you can take the trash talk better.”
Titus lives on through Carter, too. Just like he couldn’t beat Titus in basketball, Dotson can’t beat Carter on the sticks when the pair play "EA Sports College Football" — that is, according to Carter.
Dotson, having learned from the best, may be a fine trash-talker now, but thinks Titus would be talking smack if his friend were here, especially when Dotson makes a mistake. Fortunately for the defensive back, Titus wouldn’t have many opportunities to trash talk Dotson’s play, as he’s been of high quality in his first season with the Tigers.
Dotson has pitched in admirably for Missouri’s defense, playing 452 snaps through seven games, the most of any Tiger defensive sophomore or freshman. He earned his first interception of the season against Texas A&M in Week 6.
Carter thinks that Titus, while not physically there, was ever-present in Dotson’s mind when he hauled in the pigskin.
“I think he'd be really proud. He'd be really supportive,” Dotson said of Titus. “I know he'd be coming to a lot of games, for sure, if he was still here.”
Carter plans on seeing Dotson play when the Tigers hit the road Nov. 14 to take on a powerhouse Georgia squad currently ranked No. 5 in the nation. It’ll be the first time Carter has had the chance to see his big brother play in-person this season.
'Until you come up'
Dotson’s doing well now. He’s in his sophomore year of college, playing under a bright spotlight alongside his teammates on national television every weekend. When he thinks of Titus, he thinks fondly.
But Dotson and Titus were young when Titus died. Titus too young to die, Dotson too young to grieve and both too young to understand.
“We didn't really know what it was. He probably didn't know what it was, to be honest,” Dotson said. “I feel like if he did know, things could have been different. Every day, I'd see him, he’s happy and everything. But I feel like he probably thought he couldn't escape from whatever he was going through.
He continued: “That's the hardest part about it. You don't really know how you could have helped.”
It’s a question that Dotson will never know the answer to — something that now lives in the past and can’t be changed. He doesn’t dwell on the past, but he doesn’t want to experience loss the same way he did six years ago. He believes mental health isn’t something to be afraid of.
“Talk to somebody, because it’s always gonna get better,” Dotson said. “I never thought I’d get over it. I never thought I’d get better. But at the end of the day, it’s always gonna get better. It can’t not be better.
“You just gotta fight through it and continue to talk to somebody and continue to find the people that make you happy. You have to continue to find the things that make you happy. … You just gotta stay down until you come up.”
It got better for Dotson. Still, before every game, he cries remembering the times with Titus he can’t get back. But when his tears dry and his mental shifts, Dotson transitions from a state of mourning to a state of pride.
He knows who he’s crying for, and he knows who he’s playing for.
The Dotson family has set up the EDOT Youth Foundation, a nonprofit organization in memory of Titus focused on supporting mental health and the disadvantaged youth. It’s based out of Detroit, Dotson’s hometown, but has ambition to have a presence in Missouri.
If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts or a crisis, please reach out immediately to the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 or text HOME to the Crisis Text Line at 741741.
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