Then, alone with her memories, Tootell can't resist thoughts of her son Jared, who died last month when he and his best friend crawled into the trunk of a car and closed the lid.

Jared, who turned four in May, suffered a fatal heat stroke when temperatures inside the trunk reached an estimated 160 degrees, the bruises on his shins grim evidence of the struggle he put up to free himself.

For Tootell, knowing that her son was afraid and "fighting so hard for his life" makes an already difficult situation that much more painful.

His buddy, Anthony Pullum, 3, survived and has returned home. Jared's death haunts his family.

"I have a hard time being inside places, like school," Tootell said last week as she thumbed through a photo album of Jared from birth until just before he died.

"Sometimes I just want to cover my head and cry. I want to run away and be alone but it follows you. I feel like people don't know what I'm going through and what I'm dealing with."

Tootell, 33, has only to look at her 6-year-old son, Randy - who wears the same clothes as Jared and used to perform cartwheels while his little brother did flips - to be reminded of the tragedy.

A glance at Anthony, who was inseparable from Jared, causes painful memories.

Picking up the Hot Wheels toy cars Jared played with, or caressing photos of Jared and his two brothers and sister at the beach, brings her loss to the surface.

Not even knowing that her son's "Robert Redford blue eyes" and heart valves were donated to provide sight and life to other children, provides much comfort.

"Some people are afraid of me because I represent death ," Tootell said.

"Some people tell me that Jared's in a better place and that makes me feel like my home and my love weren't good enough. I just wish people would tell me they're sorry for what happened. That's all."

Jared was playing at Anthony's home in the 12900 block of Tamara Drive on Aug. 11 when the two crawled into the trunk of a disabled car and closed the trunk lid.

They were trapped inside for an hour as the outside temperature reached 101 degrees. Jared was pronounced dead later that night.

Anthony suffered liver damage and had trouble with his balance but has made a seemingly remarkable recovery. He is walking and talking again and smiles and shakes hands when visitors drop by the home.

But his grandmother, Juanita Preacely, worries that Anthony will suffer lasting emotional scars. He behaves oddly since the accident - like drinking milk from a gallon container instead of asking for a glass - and his grandmother wonders if it's his way of expressing sorrow.

"We pray every day for Jared's family," said Preacely, 60. "We grieve for them. I feel so bad for them that it even hurts to think about it."

Tootell, who attends Riverside Community College and plans one day to study sociology, knows she must provide emotional comfort to her husband, David, 34, and children Joshua, 14, Kristin, 12, and Randy.

During one particularly tough midnight grieving spell, she called someone from Compassionate Friends, a support group for parents whose children have died, and sought help.

Tootell was told that everyone expresses grief differently. It was OK if she wanted to cry.

So Tootell doesn't try to hide her sorrow when the other children approach.

"Randy will come up to me and tell me he's feeling sad," Tootell said. "I tell him that's OK. I'm feeling sad too."

The Tootell family has limited financial means.

David Tootell works six nights a week driving a truck for a moving company and the family doesn't have health insurance. Typical entertainment is a Saturday drive to the Lost Hills north of Los Angeles for a day at the park and a burger at the local fast-food joint.

Karen Tootell doesn't blame anyone for her son's death . She said that rather than suing, the family would rather work with Hyundai, the manufacturer of the car in which her son was trapped, to recall that model and redesign it so other children won't suffer a similar fate. They think the latch, which Jared and his friend worked to get into the trunk, should be inoperable without a key, which would prevent children from entering the trunk easily.

"I don't want to talk about my son's death . I want to remember him when he was alive," said Tootell, who hands inquisitive neighbors and relatives a newspaper account of Jared's death rather than answer questions herself.

"I want people to know he was happy, he loved to ride his bike and that he had a great suntan. When your child dies a part of you dies with him. When I see his picture, it makes me smile."

Tootell said one of her most prized possessions is the ragged yellow quilt that once covered Jared's bed. Getting him to surrender the blanket was always a struggle, she said, and she keeps it as a comfort to remind her of the times she tucked him into bed and told Jared she loved him.