OUR SON, TAYLOR

 Writing on Taylor's casket.

Taylor's children, too young to lose their father. 

Taylor, age 24--he died at age 43

We buried Taylor’s body three days ago. It’s alone, in a steel coffin with everyone’s last words written all over it with magic markers. We buried him at East Lawn Cemetery in Provo. All that is there is a temporary headstone in the ground, with his last name spelled wrong. The flowers that covered the coffin were made of gerbera daisies in bright colors. It was beautiful. The deer, and perhaps the rabbits too, are snacking on it. It’s an expensive midnight treat for them and is fitting. Taylor always shared whatever he had.
Here's his obituary. Click here.

Some of the family has found peace—a feeling of peace washed over Trent when he got my first phone call, even before he knew what was wrong. Some are grieving. I have gone through every stage of the grieving process several times. Mostly I cry.

Who was this boy (of 43 years) that we buried on Saturday? Besides his extreme loneliness and sadness he was usually a joyful person, somebody unlike anyone I have ever known. He was a boy whose great humor covered up something. He once told his dad he never felt worthy. He set the standards too high. He was worthy. Worthy of our love and worthy of the love of countless others. 

He was bright and often had an unmistakable testimony of the Savior. He helped Phil give me a blessing once as I was suffering from depression I had had for several months. After the blessing Taylor asked to talk to me privately. He told me, “You don’t have to suffer this, Mom. The Savior has already suffered it for you.” The next morning I woke up and the depression was gone.

Mostly Taylor loved. He loved deeply and completely. He also forgave. No matter what was done to him he forgave. Who was this extraordinary individual?

He was my son.

I know that one day I will die and he will be there, with his sweet smile and open arms, and all will be well.

I hope I can disguise my grief from the world and the rest of the family until then, because I don’t want them to know, I want them to see me being happy and loving them, because I do. But always, for Taylor, I will grieve.