21: The story of the late, great Sean Taylor; gone, but not forgotten

It was hard to believe at first. That he was gone, just like that.

A player, a teammate, a friend, a son, a future husband, and a father, now suddenly nothing more than a memory. Gone as quick as a sudden breeze in the morning. Gone to the world, the world that moved on without pause, seeming to ignore the loss of such a colossal figure. Yes, time moved on, and for everyone else, life moved on. A life filled with anger. And confusion. Why did Sean have to go? Why him? A quarter of an inch in any direction, and the bullet would have been harmless. Why Sean? Why? Some questions take time to be answered.

The shock of his death was too much to comprehend. Later in the day after he passed, Dan Snyder and Joe Gibbs scheduled a press conference. Tears flowing, they struggled to convey their emotions. How could anyone hope to put such a feeling of pain, such a feeling of loss, into mere words?

Those who grieved tried their best, but the only words that made any sense were words of denial. Sean couldn’t be gone. It didn’t make any sense. He’d been at the facility just a couple weeks earlier. Less than a month before, he was playing the game he loved, due to be married to the woman he loved, and father to a child that he loved with every fiber of his being. He loved his life. Every bit of it. And on that November morning, every bit of it vanished. Taylor found happiness, only for it to be stolen from him with the speed of a bullet. It was hard to put into words. It was impossible to put into words.

A week after Taylor’s death, the Redskins still weren’t ready to accept it. To them, Sean Taylor never left. His spirit never faltered. His essence never waned. And so one week later, when the Redskins’ defense lined up against the Buffalo Bills at home in front of a mourning crowd, they did something that made the mourners roar.

They lined up with ten players on the field.

One play for Sean.

The Redskins would end up losing that game. But they never lost sight of the bigger purpose. Sean Taylor was still with them, and he’s still with them today. Taylor never lost his love for the game, and as Gregg Williams details below, while some had trouble coping with the loss, Taylor’s spirit urged them to move on. To keep working. To do what he could no longer do.

“That play is over, coach. It’s on to the next one.”

The entire team went to the funeral procession. So did the coaches. And the owner. And Roger Goodell. It was time to say goodbye to Taylor one last time. To put the last play in the rear view mirror. And move on to the next one. But still, we can’t help but wonder why it happened. Why the world chose a man like Taylor to go. Yes, we know the motives of the killers. We know why they did what they did. But why did Taylor, such a special person, have to be the one? Destined for the Hall of Fame, sure to make an impact on the lives of so many people through sports, to be a role model for the children of an entire generation, why did Sean Taylor have to be the one to die?

It’s not easy to find reason in such a thing. Taylor’s sister-in-law, Carolina Garcia, said it best, eyes glistening, voice wavering, as she spoke to the crowd at the funeral procession.

“It’s a funny thing how God always seems to take the special ones too soon.”

Indeed. It’s hard to understand. But looking back, ten years ago, perhaps it’s not a reason for his death that we should seek, but rather, a purpose. A way to remember Sean Taylor and honor what he did. To honor what he accomplished, both on the field and for his family. Ten years later, we can remember who Sean Taylor was and be joyful that he walked this Earth, and touched the lives of so many.

No one is left from that 2007 roster. No one is left to remember the person Sean Taylor. But when players walk the halls of the facilities, the tunnels under the stadium, and when they pace themselves after practice, letting their feet press lightly into the grass, feeling the wind greet them as it passes by, they remember the persona. They remember what he meant to those who knew him, and those who merely watched. What he represented. What he embodied. They remembered. Because icons never die.

He still runs with the players in the early mornings, when the birds hop around at the edge of the nearby thickets. He still ventures inside the practice buildings, accompanying the men as they go through their workouts, taunting them happily, saying he can do better. Telling them they can do better. He still watches over his wife, Jackie, and his daughter, Jackie, as they live on the life he couldn’t. Sean Taylor is still here. He’ll always be here.

Sean Taylor represented triumph over struggle. He was an image of courage, sacrifice, and perseverance, all condensed into the mere flesh of a man. He was there to remind us that we could always be better, that we could always reach farther, that we could always be more than we were a day ago. And today, he reminds us that we have work to do. Because that play is over. It’s on to the next one.

The birds still forage in the grass at dawn. And the wind still whispers, acting as if its audience never left. It doesn’t see that there’s one less shadow out on the practice field in the early mornings. Life goes on and time doesn’t stop. But if you linger out there, in the soothing silence, bathing in the newborn daylight, feeling the wind pull you slowly closer, and if you think hard enough, if you stand still and wonder…

You can hear the footsteps.

Rushed and rhythmic.

You can hear the breathing on the wind.

The panting. The sharp exhales.

And if you look up against the backdrop of the trees, you can almost picture him. Sean Taylor running drills. Training himself to fly higher than all the rest.

Sean Taylor may be gone. But his spirit never left. And as much as he might want to keep working, keep fighting, and keep playing for his team, Sean Taylor doesn’t need to train any longer.

He’s flying now.