by Taylor Black
I never read it, Pops. I wanted a Hollywood ending. But where does he take the title?
John Donne. Holy Sonnets.
“Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think’st dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.”
Sounds like the spirit or the soul to me, Pops. Death can’t kill the soul. He can only release it.
That’s interesting, Taylor, but I think I need to call it a night. I’m a bit tired tonight.
Sleep well, Pops, but don’t take any carriage rides for a while. This place is pretty crowded already.
19th Birthday
So do you remember your 19th birthday?
As well as most dead girls, I guess. It was more of a “deathday” than a birthday, Pops. I mean, let’s face, there wasn’t any cake and ice-cream and I was a pile of ashes in a canister. It’s kind of hard to enjoy a birthday from that perspective.
Well, you died so late in November and we had you cremated. Are you sorry we didn’t bury you?
Heck no, dust to dust and all of that. Fine with me. Courtney told me that when you go, Pops, you want be cremated and your ashes mixed in with the sand in the big butt can at your twelve-step group.
Yes.
I thought that was pretty funny.
Courtney didn’t care for it.
No, not my serious sister, but she did a great job with my ceremony. So did mom at my funeral.
I always thought your mom did a great job at the funeral, Taylor. Better than I ever could have done.
She really did, but I liked the boat ceremony best, Pops. On the boat, a mile from the beach, letting my ashes float out to sea. And the roses and the pictures in the water.
Just one, your commencement photograph.
Well that’s fine, Pops. Death really was a new beginning. Jeff wasn’t there though; he was up in North Carolina.
He died shortly after that in that car accident. Like the dream you once had about him. So sad. Unbelievable. Courtney played your favorite songs. She had a mix. There were songs by Fleetwood Mac, of course, and Billy Joel and Lauryn Hill as well as “Tequila Sunrise” and “Sister Golden Hair Surprise.”
That’s what I always sang to Courtney, “Sister Golden Hair Surprise,” it was the perfect song for her. I like it that Courtney ended the music with “When Doves Cry,” by Prince. I thought that was cool.
I remember how determined you were to give Courtney a birthday gift on November 20th, her 21st birthday. You were about to get a spinal tap and all you could think about was your sister’s birthday. I still hear the anguish of your cries when you got that spinal tap.
Well, it smarted quite a bit, Pops. Spinal taps aren’t for the squeamish. Courtney was my sister, Pops, but she was also my dearest friend. I’m so glad I didn’t die on Courtney’s birthday, Pops. That would have been the worst thing possible for her. I could have died on the 27th or 28th but I had business to finish with Karly because we had a falling out.
Karly drove from Orlando to be with you at the end. The hospice folks told us that patients try to resolve issues before they pass on. You and Courtney were an “and,” Taylor, and now the “and” is gone. It is no longer Courtney and Taylor, Courtney and Taylor.
I don’t know, Pops. Maybe it is, in a way. You know from the boat, you could see the shore and Bathtub Beach and Sailfish Point. That’s where Courtney met her husband. What’s he like?
You’d like him, Taylor. He’s brilliant but sometimes absent-minded.
Sounds like you, Pops, except for the brilliant part.
You’re cute.
I know it. You’ve got enough pictures on the wall to prove it, Pops. Damn beautiful girl wasn’t I?
Yes, Taylor, in more ways than one.
I even have a picture of you lovingly holding Rhett.
Burn that photo, Pops. I have a reputation to hold up.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Ed Bradley
You never watched the program a second time, did you, Pops?
No, but I have it on tape. Several people gave me tapes of the 60 Minutes show. April 2002, Desperately Fighting Cancer. You know I can Google Taylor Black 60 Minutes, Brain Cancer and you come right up.
I guess the program will always be there. Ed Bradley sent you an email, didn’t he, Pops? Just a short little email that you keep in the desk drawer with copies of my journals. Courtney has the originals of my journals.
Courtney is the historian now; she has an M.A. in history.
You never were a big fan of televising everything.
No, but I thought the attention would get you the best care. It was surreal to watch you on the program after you had passed on. You talked so calmly about death. I thought you were humble and Dr. Henry Friedman arrogant. You looked radiant.
Type out the transcript excerpts, Pops. I’ll wait.
60 Minutes: April 7, 2002
Ed Bradley (voiceover): Taylor Black, a seventeen-year-old high school senior from Florida has a rare and fast growing brain tumor which was diagnosed a year and a half ago after she collapsed in the shower.
Taylor: When I got the results that I had a brain tumor and everything it just didn’t seem real, because you see the—you think you’re invincible when you’re this young. You’re like “what could happen to me? What could possibly happen to me?” But it is happening to me, so I have to deal with it.
There was a good deal of footage of Taylor with the family, especially her mom, and with Henry Friedman, and Bradley did a voiceover.
Bradley (voiceover): We first met Taylor Black 15 months ago. She had just started being treated by Henry Friedman after leaving her original oncologist who told her that the cancer was too far advanced and that nothing could be done to save her. When she was diagnosed, she was told by her doctors that she had only six months to live.
I certainly don’t remember that discussion with any of Taylor’s doctors. And the 15 months was closer to 14 months, but, what the heck, it was broadcast journalism so perhaps it was close enough. Dr. Henry Friedman then gave a voiceover.
Friedman: Surprise, she’s still here. And we’re going to try to make that continue because the goal is not just a few months. The goal is to cure her which is still very possible.
Taylor: He is the ideal doctor for me. He’s got a lot of hope.
(Footage of Henry Friedman with the Black family, Taylor undergoing radiation treatment at Shands Hospital at the University of Florida)
Bradley (voiceover): But Dr. Friedman’s 2,000 patients don’t need proof, especially the ones who are sicker than Taylor Black. Her type of cancer cannot be treated with monoclonal antibody therapy, so instead she has had two brain surgeries and undergone multiple rounds of chemotherapy with two different drugs. While the treatments seem to be slowing the growth of the tumor, Dr. Friedman added another weapon last April in hopes of destroying her cancer: high beam radiation of Taylor’s brain and spine. It has caused her to lose her hair.
Actually she lost her hair with the first rounds of chemotherapy.
Taylor (voiceover): I had long hair, and then it just started falling out in big clumps.
(Footage of Taylor putting on a wig).
Bradley (voiceover): The ordeal has been intense and painful. Some people say that you (Speaking on camera to Taylor) you have to go to hell first.
Taylor: Pretty much.
Bradley: So you never reached a point where you said, “I just can’t take this anymore?”
Taylor: Oh yeah, I did. I just wanted to scream and cry, but I have to take it. You know. I just have to get through it.
Bradley: You must have thought about the possibility that you won’t beat it.
Taylor: Yeah, I have thought about that, definitely. I—it’s a very real possibility but everybody’s got to die someday, and if I have to die, I have to die. I mean, I’ve come to grips with my own mortality now. Nobody lives forever.
If go a little bit earlier than I was—thought I was going to go then I do, but at least make every day count.
Bradley: You’re amazing.
Taylor (smiling): Thank you.
The program, watched by over twenty million people, would go on to detail one last attempt by Dr. Friedman to save Taylor and then, Ed Bradley came on with the final words about my daughter.
Taylor Black went home and two weeks later she died.
* * *
They got a few things wrong, Taylor.
Yes, but they got the story right. I mean that’s what the whole thing was about after all.
Ed Bradley’s email the next day said, “I was touched by Taylor’s strength, maturity and openness. She was truly amazing. I can’t tell you how many people have stopped me today to talk about her.”
Maybe I did some good in the end, Pops.
Maybe you did, Taylor, maybe you did.
Chapter Fifty: Eternal Knight
Taylor K. Black
January 11, 1983–November 29, 2001
ETERNAL KNIGHT
April 17, 2002
University of Central Florida
That is the inscription on a triangular piece of glass that rests on a small block of wood, a memento of the “Eternal Knight” ceremony in 2002 to remember the deceased students of the University of Central Florida. It was the first such ceremony and I don’t know if the university continued with the ceremony or if it has become tradition. But somewhere about 2006 or 2007 I had to Super Glue eternity back together as the glass had slipped off the block.
Taylor’s Aunt Barbara and grandmother Virginia showed up for the ceremony as did Taylor’s friends Karly and Gia. Taylor’s roommate Celia was also there and I gave her a taped copy of the 60 Minutes program. Taylor’s mother wasn’t there and she did not attend another memorial for deceased children at St. Mary’s Hospital at which Taylor was honored.
It wasn’t in her I guess, Pops. She doesn’t live in the past like you do. You’re the history teacher, you live in the past. Mom lives in the present.
That’s true.
* * *
They tolled the ship’s bell. So John Donne, Pops. So John Donne. “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls…”
It tolls for thee.
Kind of a small audience though, Pops, considering all the kids that croaked that year.
There were more empty chairs than full ones. Most of the big wigs of the university showed up, but the audience was family and friends. As for the student body at UCF, it was just another day of classes. Death? What is that? It doesn’t concern me. I am young. I am invincible. Call me back in 60 years.
That’s how I felt too, Pops, before they discovered the brain tumor. You guys cried a lot at the ceremony. Truly a Kleenex moment. Tears are God’s way of cleansing the soul, I think.
I gave the roses to your grandmother.
I remember that. That was a nice gesture, Pops.
The bell rang seventeen times, Taylor, but some of the deceased were actually alumni that have passed on in the last few years. I suppose they were included because it was the first year and they were just trying to catch up.
I was happy Karly and Gia were there along with Aunt Barb and Grandma. It was special that Celia came too. I really liked Celia.
She liked you too, Taylor. She told me so. She said she was thankful for having known you. That really hit me hard. That’s when I started bawling.
You always were a sentimental sap, Pops.
Just like you.
Like father…Like daughter.
Sleep well, Pops. We’ll chat again….
The End
An Epilogue
“Conversation in a Car” (First published in Living with Loss Magazine)
By Timothy W. Black
“I can’t believe you saved this car,” Taylor said to her father as he turned the ignition of the 1991 Tercel, the green turtle of Taylor’s high school days.
“I couldn’t give it up,” her father smiled wistfully.
Taylor laughed. “Dad, you are the only man I ever knew who watched Oprah and cried along with the women.”
“Guilty,” he smiled.
“And during It’s a Wonderful Life every year at Christmas time. You sobbed like a sissy, dad.”
“You did too, Tale.”
“When Clarence got his wings, sure. I couldn’t help it. Boy! They’ve really redone East Ocean Boulevard haven’t they?” She said as he turned the old car onto the main drag in Stuart.
“Four lanes, sweetheart. Only two when you were here.”
“I wish we had time to go to the beach.”
“At night?”
“I always liked it after twilight, dad. Just the stars and me. Too bad you don’t have time.”
“We can go, sweetheart.”
“No, no. You have to meet mom. Some other time.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “Remember when you wandered away at the Statue of Liberty. I nearly had a heart attack. You were always wandering away, Taylor.”
“I guess I was. I guess I never realized that they were steps in a journey. This bridge is new isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the father said as he crossed the span to Sewall’s Point. “I forget you haven’t been here in five years.”
“Yes. Five years. I guess in your mind I’m still 18 and your little girl.”
“Uh huh,” the father smiled. “Sometimes you are much younger. In your softball uniform. You girls were so little the fathers had to pitch in the games.”
“And you beaned me,” Taylor laughed
“Wait a minute, Tale. I yelled for you to get out of the way and you just stood there and got plunked. And then you cried.”
“Of course I cried. I was eight years old and my dad had just beaned me with a softball. That’s a funny name for the ball. There was nothing soft about it.”
“I didn’t mean to bean you.”
“And those other fathers yelling child abuse and everyone laughed. Except me. I cried.”
“Okay, okay,” the father said. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry.”
“Infinity,” Taylor laughed.
“You and infinity. That was your favorite word as a child. Infinity.”
“I love you infinity.”
“Yes, you always said that.”
“I always meant it, dad. So my dear sister Courtney told you I smoked pot before school huh?”
“Yes. I never knew that.”
“Some things are best kept from parents.”
“But why?”
“Dad, it was high school. It was the only way to get through high school. High. Get it?”
“Yeah…Ha ha.”
“Bad joke. C’mon, dad. I learned them from you.” She began to sing. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore…”
“Buddy Holly?”
“Sure. You always played Buddy Holly on I 95 those summers we went to Nana’s. And Sergeant Pepper and the Mamas and Papas. You indoctrinated us, dad.”
“I corrupted you?”
“We didn’t see it like that.”
“Is that why you started smoking pot, Tale?”
“Geez, dad. In the end it kept me from barfing….” she sang again. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Hmmm. Pot? Is that why you never rode to school with your older sister?”
“Courtney? She was a goody two shoes. She never did anything in high school except forge notes for other kids.”
“Yes, she told me that.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“After the statute of limitations had run out. Watch your speed in Sewall’s Point, the place always was a speed trap.”
“I know.”
“I always felt like I was in Courtney’s shadow with you, dad. She graduated from high school with an A.A. degree from junior college. I could have done that too.”
“Yes, I think you could have. But you didn’t apply yourself.”
“You didn’t apply yourself in high school either, dad.”
“Who told you that?”
“Who do you think?”
“You’ve been talking to Nana?”
Taylor laughed. As they drove north on Sewall’s Point road past the houses on the Indian River, docks lit by lanterns like so many fireflies, they slowed for the stoplight by the marina. Taylor loved to catch fireflies when she was little, the father thought.
“Remember when we rode on Frances Langford’s yacht, Tale?”
“Yes. That United Way fund raiser when you and mom were still married.”
“Uh huh. What was the name of that boat?”
“The Chancellor or Chancellor, something like that,” Taylor said.
“Yes, that was quite a day. She was quite a lady, Tale.”
“She sure is. Up on the hill to the left, dad. Isn’t that the old F.I.T. dormitory?”
“Yes. It’s an assisted living place now. The rest of F.I.T. they turned into a park.”
“Didn’t you teach classes there?”
“Adjunct stuff. Before you were born, sweetheart. Before the college went belly up. Now look at it,” he said as he turned into an entrance to the palm tree lined park. Lights from the second floor of a two story building beckoned a stream of people from their parked cars. Some of those people meandered about the second floor veranda until dimming lights, like a theater cue, invited them inside to their seats lined row upon row in front of a slide screen.
“I’m glad you came, dad,” Taylor said.
“Only took five years.”
“I guess it takes longer for some, dad.”
“Not your mom though.”
“She’s different. It’s okay though. You’re here.”
“Uh huh.”
“Go, dad. Mom’s waiting for you upstairs. You’re on your own from here. I’m not going up with you.”
“I know. I know.”
As he locked his car door he smiled at his daughter then walked from the parking lot up the stairs to the second floor of the building. His ex-wife met at him at the top of the stairs and gave him his candle. He noticed that she had been crying. He knew that throughout the world on this day, hour after hour, this ceremony was being repeated.
He took the candle from his ex-wife, gave her a hug, and began to cry. His tears dotted his “Compassionate Friends” program, but at last he was here. After five years he was here and midway through the ceremony as he watched the slide of Taylor fill the screen, his salty smile eased his sorrow.