I've led an extremely sheltered life concerning death. My mother's parents both died when I was too young think about anything beyond the loss of their physical presence. That's my experience with death.
Yet I just found myself wanting to write a letter to Sean Taylor, who died this morning after being shot in his home early Monday morning. I wanted to wish him safe travels to wherever he was bound. This is the first time I ever truly cared about the great beyond, and now I find myself questioning it seriously for the first time as well.
It's silly. I know. We never met. I don't think I ever saw him speak, to be honest. My admiration of him was almost solely limited to the devastation left in his wake in my favorite team's backfield. That and I believed he was unjustly accused of being a bad egg. Watch TV right now. CNN managed to fit in that he'd been fined by the league seven times for late hits. But maybe the bad egg personae is what led thugs with guns into his house. I don't know.
I watched every professional football game the man played. I watched his hit reels on YouTube in the offseason when I needed to feel the season wasn't that far away. And now, I can't believe I'm saying this, I can only hope that he is at peace.
Godspeed #21.
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