THE RADAR OF LIFE: TYLOR'S STORY
Approximately 11:19PM December 9, 2014- A mere blip on the radar we call life, but a moment that forever changed my existence in a twinkle of an eye. I was in my sophomore year of college, still young enough to be absolutely infatuated with the fun that comes with being a young college student, yet old enough to feel the pressure of finals breathing down my neck like the overweight classmate who just walked up four flights of stairs to sit behind you in your daily lecture. I was riding home from the gym, which was unusual because, to be honest, I really didn’t work out that much-especially late at night. I was riding with two of my friends who I had run into at the gym and one of them was kind enough to offer me a ride home, which was a relief because it was a frigid 30 degrees outside. We were just pulling out of the parking lot when I got the call. I thought it was bizarre that my dad was calling me at this time at night so I did something I rarely do when I’m in the car with friends: I answered. From the moment I hit accept on my phone screen I knew something was off.
“Hey buddy, are you with anyone right now?”
Boom. I could feel the pit of my stomach drop to the floor. Tylor. See I had recently just learned over Thanksgiving break that my brother had a very serious drug addiction. He had recently come home from the war, with the mental scars to prove it. I had seen the way he shuddered at night, face twisted, gnashing his teeth as he slept. It was hard because we were told not to do anything while he slept because you don’t know what state of mind he is going to be in when he wakes up, for all he knows you were the same Taliban member trying to kill him as he was trying to destroy in his night terrors. The ever-fading line of reality and nightmare was dissipated when he went to the hell he called sleep. It drove him to a point where he never wanted to go, to a place where we as normal civilians reach solace. Sleep was the new enemy, and he was going to do everything in his power to destroy it. He started abusing heavy drugs so he wouldn’t have to go back to that place. He would be up for days at a time, only sleeping when his body physically passed out. I knew when my dad called that something happened to him. But what? Was he in the hospital again for a drug overdose? Did he get hurt while he was high? Did something happen to the house? Before my dad could say anything else I slowly responded,
“Dad, what happened to Tylor?”
The long pause as my dad tried to collect himself was answer enough.I couldn’t really hear what he was saying as I stumbled out of the car onto the front lawn of one of the fraternities that we were driving by.
“He was found dead in his car, they think it was a drug overdose…”
He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. My head was spinning, my vision blurred by anger, my stomach non-existent, it’s a feeling I hope you never have to experience. I was filled with a hatred I have never felt before. To be honest I was choked up, but I was so mad I couldn’t even cry. I waved for my friends to go home because, from the car, they couldn't tell what was going on. I slowly walked back to my fraternity with a dull, dumbfounded expression on my face. I went to my friend’s room, but he was sleeping. His roommate was still up, and I collapsed against the closed door and wept. I wept and wept and wept for what seemed like 5 hours. I told my friend what had happened, and I didn’t know what else to do. My fraternity brothers heard the news the next day and they, one-by-one expressed their sincere condolences and I received more embraces that day, than any other day in my life. My brother lost his battle to PTSD and it is something that my whole family has to live with everyday for the rest of our lives; however, it is something we can carry as a lens to put on the telescope through which we view the world. We don’t really complain about trivial things as much anymore, because in the big scheme of life, what does it matter? What I do know is that I have enveloped a new passion for living everyday like it’s my last. You never know when you’re going to be gone, it sounds cliché, but you really don’t. You could walk to class today and get hit by a car and die; you could be reading this and have a heart attack and collapse. The truth is, if you don’t live everyday like it could be your last day alive, then you aren’t living at all. There are soldiers out there that can barely make it through one day without reliving the horrific details of war replaying through their heads like a broken repeat button. Please, for Tylor, for our troops, for the families that have to carry the death of a PTSD victim everyday, do something about this terrible disease that is becoming an epidemic for our soldiers. You can’t control when your blip is going to disappear off the radar of life, but you can control how big the dot is.
