I remember March 9, 2010 like it was yesterday. I was supposed to cover a valet shift at the Palm at 11:15 a.m., so I just lounged around the apartment for most of the morning, checking sports scores and other news online. Ben Roethlisberger's latest sexual assault charge had recently hit the news, and I was exchanging witty text messages with my buddy Matthew, a big Steelers fan, making fun of the situation. And that's about when I got the following message delivered to my Facebook inbox:
"Jason, I need you to call me. Can you give me a quick call? Please call me. It's important." -Tamara
Immediately, a chill went down my spine. An urgent message from Tamara, asking me to call her right away, could only mean one thing: something had happened to Taylor. I ignored the message for about half an hour, watching a few funny videos on youtube and ironing my clothes, possibly pretending that nothing was wrong, even though I knew that wasn't the case. I checked again and, surely enough, the message was still there.
I finally called Tamara and received the news: Taylor John, someone I considered closer to me than even my own family, was gone. He was 28 years old.
It's funny how people react when someone dies. I spent the entire day calling people I knew, first my family and then friends from Charlotte Christian, to inform those who needed to hear it from me and compel them to spread the word. I tried to think; the last thing I wanted was for one of Taylor's close friends from high school to find out on Facebook that he had passed away. Josh Holland and Daniel Eggers were probably the first people I called outside my family, and since Eggers' wife was in our class at Christian, she was able to get the word out to a good number of people, as well. I was grateful for that; it made my job easier. But then I started getting phone calls and messages from people wanting to know what was going on, how it happened, why it happened, what Taylor had been up to the last few years. And then I became angry. If you are so curious to know what Taylor has been doing, or why he was in trouble, then why didn't you stay in touch with him all these years? That's what I wanted to say to people. Others criticized me for being too open and personal on my Facebook page. I basically started ranting, and when people criticized me for it I would lash out. "Don't you have someone you feel you can talk to when you're upset? You shouldn't bottle things up, but maybe you shouldn't broadcast them, either." My response: I did have someone I could talk to. He's gone now.
I felt I had been loyal to my friend, and I was angry that other people had not. Taylor's death, initially, made me a selfish, angry, and resentful person.
I made a point, once I finally found time to grieve, to use Taylor's passing as a way to analyze my own life. I dug pretty deep and I didn't necessarily like what I found: I had done all right for myself in my first 28 years, made some great friends, had some good times, accomplished some great things...but I wasn't all that happy. I felt I had been trapped in some sort of limbo, where my life was happening and I was not necessarily in control of it. There wasn't really anything wrong with me, but I could do better. I made a point to start doing better. I began to eat healthier. I quit going out uptown every weekend. Eventually, I started running again, and while I'm currently still on the mend from an injury, suffice it to say that I am back as a runner. There were moments on the trails last fall where I couldn't help but look around and nearly shout in exuberance at where I had found myself: for the first time in longer than I could remember, I was once again doing something I loved. Think about that: before, I wasn't really doing anything that made me happy. More importantly, I also feel like I became a better person. I've done a better job of making time for my friends. I've reconnected with people with whom I had lost touch. I make a point to thank my parents for the way they raised me as often as I can. I tell someone like Eggers that he inspires me with his running because, well, he does, and you never know when someone - anyone - might need to hear something like that.
Without Taylor, I don't think any of that happens. Life is just far too short for anger, resentment, or selfishness, no matter how "righteous" or justified it may ever be. It just isn't worth it.
While it may sound like I'm talking about myself, I am not. I am talking about Taylor. I don't know how to really put into words what Taylor was like, how I saw him, or the kind of person he was. I've tried. The best way I know how to express what kind of person he was is to explain what he has done for me. Correction: what he is doing for me. I wasn't really sure what to make of today, the one-year anniversary of his death. I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it every day for the last year, anyway.
Through Tamara and Taylor's journal, I learned that Taylor always saw me as a true friend: he said when things were as dark as possible, and life felt hopeless, I had been there for him, and he appreciated it to the very end. I have no idea what to say to that, except this: when I have doubts about myself, or question where life is headed, or just plain get scared...Taylor's watching out for me, too. And you can't ask for a better friend than that.
I love you like a brother, Taylor. Thanks for allowing me to be such a big part of your life.
"Jason, I need you to call me. Can you give me a quick call? Please call me. It's important." -Tamara
Immediately, a chill went down my spine. An urgent message from Tamara, asking me to call her right away, could only mean one thing: something had happened to Taylor. I ignored the message for about half an hour, watching a few funny videos on youtube and ironing my clothes, possibly pretending that nothing was wrong, even though I knew that wasn't the case. I checked again and, surely enough, the message was still there.
I finally called Tamara and received the news: Taylor John, someone I considered closer to me than even my own family, was gone. He was 28 years old.
It's funny how people react when someone dies. I spent the entire day calling people I knew, first my family and then friends from Charlotte Christian, to inform those who needed to hear it from me and compel them to spread the word. I tried to think; the last thing I wanted was for one of Taylor's close friends from high school to find out on Facebook that he had passed away. Josh Holland and Daniel Eggers were probably the first people I called outside my family, and since Eggers' wife was in our class at Christian, she was able to get the word out to a good number of people, as well. I was grateful for that; it made my job easier. But then I started getting phone calls and messages from people wanting to know what was going on, how it happened, why it happened, what Taylor had been up to the last few years. And then I became angry. If you are so curious to know what Taylor has been doing, or why he was in trouble, then why didn't you stay in touch with him all these years? That's what I wanted to say to people. Others criticized me for being too open and personal on my Facebook page. I basically started ranting, and when people criticized me for it I would lash out. "Don't you have someone you feel you can talk to when you're upset? You shouldn't bottle things up, but maybe you shouldn't broadcast them, either." My response: I did have someone I could talk to. He's gone now.
I felt I had been loyal to my friend, and I was angry that other people had not. Taylor's death, initially, made me a selfish, angry, and resentful person.
I made a point, once I finally found time to grieve, to use Taylor's passing as a way to analyze my own life. I dug pretty deep and I didn't necessarily like what I found: I had done all right for myself in my first 28 years, made some great friends, had some good times, accomplished some great things...but I wasn't all that happy. I felt I had been trapped in some sort of limbo, where my life was happening and I was not necessarily in control of it. There wasn't really anything wrong with me, but I could do better. I made a point to start doing better. I began to eat healthier. I quit going out uptown every weekend. Eventually, I started running again, and while I'm currently still on the mend from an injury, suffice it to say that I am back as a runner. There were moments on the trails last fall where I couldn't help but look around and nearly shout in exuberance at where I had found myself: for the first time in longer than I could remember, I was once again doing something I loved. Think about that: before, I wasn't really doing anything that made me happy. More importantly, I also feel like I became a better person. I've done a better job of making time for my friends. I've reconnected with people with whom I had lost touch. I make a point to thank my parents for the way they raised me as often as I can. I tell someone like Eggers that he inspires me with his running because, well, he does, and you never know when someone - anyone - might need to hear something like that.
Without Taylor, I don't think any of that happens. Life is just far too short for anger, resentment, or selfishness, no matter how "righteous" or justified it may ever be. It just isn't worth it.
While it may sound like I'm talking about myself, I am not. I am talking about Taylor. I don't know how to really put into words what Taylor was like, how I saw him, or the kind of person he was. I've tried. The best way I know how to express what kind of person he was is to explain what he has done for me. Correction: what he is doing for me. I wasn't really sure what to make of today, the one-year anniversary of his death. I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it every day for the last year, anyway.
Through Tamara and Taylor's journal, I learned that Taylor always saw me as a true friend: he said when things were as dark as possible, and life felt hopeless, I had been there for him, and he appreciated it to the very end. I have no idea what to say to that, except this: when I have doubts about myself, or question where life is headed, or just plain get scared...Taylor's watching out for me, too. And you can't ask for a better friend than that.
I love you like a brother, Taylor. Thanks for allowing me to be such a big part of your life.
