Take Me Out To The Ball Game To Save Some Lives

This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.- Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones) Field of Dreams

Peyton and me at his first Astros Game

It's that time of the year again, time for America's past time, baseball.  High school and college are in full swing (pun intended), and the pros are now in spring training.  It is that time of the year that,  to borrow a phrase from Ernest Lawrence Thayer, that fans from Boston to San Diego cling "to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast."

Sadly, Spring is also the time of year that sees a rise in the rate of suicides. Contrary to popular belief that suicide rates are highest in the winter, studies show that it is actually the spring. As TS Eliot said in The Wasteland, "April is the cruelest month." The reasons are varied and complex, but never the less, as nature experiences a rebirth, people sink deeper into depression, lose hope, and make the choice to end their lives. 

Over the years, more than 80 major league players have taken their lives. From former Cy Young award winner Mike Flanagan and Hideki Irabu, who was part of two New York Yankee World Championship teams to players such as Dan Thomas and Carlos Bernier that are barely more than a foot note in the Baseball Almanac. One of the more notable baseball suicides would be Ryan Freel, a utility player whose major league career spanned eight years with five different teams. Freel was the first former Major League Baseball player to have his brain studied by the Boston University Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy and the first to be diagnosed with chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), the progressive degenerative disease of the brain found in people with a history of repetitive brain trauma that played a role in the suicide deaths of former NFL stars Aaron Hernandez, Andre Waters, Dave Duerson and Junior Seau.  

So what do baseball and suicide have to do with each other? Maybe nothing. More that 15,000 men have played in the major leagues over the years, which means less that one percent have ever taken their lives. While there have been some, such as Jimmy Piersall, that openly battled mental health issues during their playing career, many suffered in silence over the years. Now former players such as Khalid Greene, 2003 NL Rookie Of the Year Dontrelle Willis, and former Pirates ace Ian Snell, and current players such as Evan Gattis of the Astros, Cy Young Award winner Zack Greinke, and 2011 World Series MVP David Freese have been open about their battles with mental illness. Statistics show that one in every five people deal with some type of mental health issue, then for every Gattis, Greinke, and Freese, there are four other players on the 25 man roster that are fighting similar battles. Over the years, players such as Tommy Hanson and Eric Show turned to drugs and alcohol to battle the demons, only to lose the war against them. Perhaps by being open and acknowledging the problems of mental health and suicide in our society, the Astros and Major League Baseball can help bring attention to a growing epidemic in our country.

Last year the Astros averaged 36, 797 fans per game. Once again, if statistics prove true, then 1,840 of those fans were dealing with some kind of mental health issue. Sadly, only about 50% of them were being treated, approximately 100 will attempt suicide, and four will succeed. Over the course of the season, of the 2,980,549 fans that took in a game at Minute Maid Park, approximately 387 of them would have taken their lives, and 9,675 of them would have attempted. In all, baseball would have lost 8,694 fans during the 2018 season.*

So before we brush it aside, imagine Dodger Stadium (average attendance 47, 043) in Los Angles sitting empty or T-Mobile Park in Seattle (capacity 48,116) with less than 1,000 fans for a game. That is approximately the number of people lost to suicide each year. A number that can be reduced through education and awareness. So while MLB teams set aside games to show appreciation to Teachers, First Responders, the Armed Forces , and Nurses (all needed and appreciated), as well as nights for Cancer Awareness, Autism Awareness, Transplant Awareness (once again, all much needed and appreciated), why can't they set aside a night for Suicide or Mental Health? With approximately 65 million Americans battling Mental Health issues during the course of a year, there would be substantial interest and appreciation.

I urge every person that lives in one of the 30 cities that supports a MLB team to contact their team and encourage them to host such a night. The same goes for all of those that live in cities hosting Minor League teams, from Triple A down through the Rookie Leagues to the Independent Leagues. Ask them to host a night that calls attention to such a tragic issue. I promise you, there are so many people out there that have lost a loved one, contemplated taking their own lives, or battle mental health issues that want to know that they are not alone, that they do not need to suffer in silence, and that there are people out there that give a damn. I promise you Major League Baseball, if you host it, they will come.

*This entire paragraph is based upon my very poor math skills.  My numbers could be off.  

Happy Rebirthday!!!

After my son's death, his mother and I made the decision to donate his oragns and corneas.  We wanted something positive to come out of his tragic death. Every year, on the anniversary of his passing, I write letters to his recipients, most of whom are unknown to me.  

Dear Recipient,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving.  I know October 13/14 will mark the four year anniversary of your transplant.  Those days are forever etched in my mind for two reasons.  The first is that it will mark four years since my 13 year old son Peyton left this Earth.  It also marks four years since he gave the gift of life, which has helped ease the pain of his death. Not a day goes by that I don't miss him terribly.  The pain of his death can still drop me to my knees and bring on a cascade of tears.  However, whenever I think of him or talk about him, I always talk about the lives that were saved that day.  Despite the tragic nature of his death, he became a hero to eight people that day.

After his death, I wrote to each and every recipient telling you about Peyton. For about the first six months after his death, I checked the mail religiously every day hoping that I would hear from you and be able to tell you about the amazing boy that is now a part of you.  When I didn't hear from you, I became discouraged.  I couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to communicate.  You see so many of those amazing meetings on TV where the families of the recipients meet the donor family and hug, cry, share stories, and become lifelong friends.  That is what I wanted in my time of raw grief.  I needed to know that you were okay, and that Peyton was still alive inside of you.  

It wasn't until June of 2016 that I was finally able to meet David, the recipient of one of Peyton's kidneys.  He told me about the six years he spent on dialysis waiting for a kidney.  He told me that he had all but given up hope that one would be found, and that he was tired of sacrificing his day to day life to dialysis and was ready to take his chances.  That was until he got the call.  He and his daughter rushed from their home in southeast Texas to San Antonio where he received his transplant.  Thirty minutes after transplant, the kidney was producing urine (normally it takes several hours).  David also told me about the times he tried to sit down and write to my family to thank us.  He explained how difficult it was to put into words how grateful he was for the gift of life, because the gift was born out of tragedy.  How do you express your joy at being given a second chance at life when some one has just lost their loved one?  In speaking with another recipient (not from Peyton), and she told me how it took several years to be able to write to her donor's family because of the guilt involved.  Here she was living her life only because someone's child had died.  

Now here we are coming up on four years, and I hope it has been a good four years for you.  I hope that you have been blessed with the natural energy and enthusiasm that Peyton was known for. Maybe you have a new found love for anime, Dr. Who, or video games. Regardless of how you came to get your transplant, know that it was our choice to donate because we wanted something positive to come out of Peyton's death, and that is you.  You are living, walking proof that miracles do happen, and you deserve to live your life to the utmost, so consider today a day of celebration!!!  I want you to live with an unbridled enthusiasm for life, not guilt.  You are alive for a good reason.  You are a symbol of hope for so many others, and I know that Peyton would be proud to play a part in your life. 

Sincerely, and with much love,

David, Peyton's Dad

Author's Note:  When writing this, I wanted to figure out the perfect title. I originally went from Organversary to Transplantaversary, but neither seemed right.  I posted to several transplant groups to find out what recipients call the day they receive dthe gift of life.  There was the liverversary, kidneyversary, heartversary, etc..., but the one that struck me, and that I decided to go with was Rebirthday.  

Four Years Ago Today, My Life Changed Forever

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. - unknown

Four years ago today , Monday, October 8, 2018, my new life began.  It began around five o'clock  in the evening in the coaches parking lot up at College Park High School in The Woodlands, Texas.

The day started like any other.  I was up early to head to the school in order to pick up the shuttle bus for the swim team. From there, I drove to the pool for practice, back to the school for a full day of teaching class, and then back to the pool for another practice.

After the afternoon practice, I headed back to the school to make sure I had everything ready to go for the next day at school. During my preparations, the power point I was using crashed.  Feeling angry and frustrated, thought, "screw it," and headed out.

As I walked out the back doors of the school, I was greeted by a typical south Texas afternoon deluge.  I stood under cover waiting for a break in the weather, but when that didn't happen, once again, "screw it," came to mind, and across the parking lot I went , jamming my thumb on the unlock button of my key fob.  I threw my back pack in the back, jumped into my truck, wiped the rain from my face, and took a deep cleansing breath.  At that moment, I was startled by the strains of "Texas Fight", blaring from my phone.  I fumbled through my pocket to get out my phone, saw it was my ex-wife, and almost let it go to voice mail, and if I had been driving, or had started the engine, perhaps I would have.

When I answered with a tired and semi-annoyed "Hello," All I heard was "David, you need to talk to this officer."  The phone was handed off , and an official voice came on and told me that "Peyton James has hung himself."  At that point, my life changed forever. My 13 year old son had attempted to take his life.

I sat in my truck with tears and snot running down my face, I screamed and yelled until my throat was raw, my cries drowning out the rain drumming on the roof.  I was able to get myself together long enough to call my wife.  We drove through the night to Dell Children's Medical Center in Austin to be by Peyton's side.  We were able to say good bye before he succumbed to his injuries.

Now I sit here, wishing to God I was still the same person I was, wishing Peyton was still here with us, wishing that I was trying to figure out how I was going to pay for college.  But now I'm a different person than I was four years ago.  Instead of wondering how my sweet baby boy became a senior in high school, I am left to wonder when I will get to see him again.  Instead of worrying about him driving, I worry that his sister Emmy will never really know what an incredible kid brother she had.  All I have left are memories and pictures that I share with her so that she never forgets.

So today, as I head out the door to work, I will not treat it like just another day.  A part of me will not pay attention during inservice because I will be trying hard not to dwell on that day four years ago.  I will hold back the tears until I walk out of the building to the coaches parking lot.  I will probably sit in my car and let the tears and snot stream down my face.  I'll give myself time to grieve and compose myself before I head home.  When I get home, I'll hold Emmy tight and tell her about how special Peyton was.

The Senior Year That Never Will Be

The month of September is National Suicide Prevention Month.  The Week of September 9-15 is Suicide Prevention Day, and Monday, September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day. In honor of all of those, I have written the following entry in memory of my son, Peyton James, whom I lost to suicide in October of 2014.  This is for him and all the other children who have been lost too soon.  



As of Monday, August 27th, all schools in Texas were back in session.  From Orange across to         El Paso and from Booker down to Brownsville,  more than five million students are now actively engaged in learning across the state.  From reading and writing to robotics and rhetorical analysis, students are working toward their goals and preparing for their futures. 

On August 16th, 2018, students returned to class at East View High School in Georgetown, Texas.  However, one member of the class of 2019 was not there to begin  his senior year because in October of 2014, during his eighth grade year, he came home from school, went into his room and hanged himself. Despite the best efforts of first responders and the medical staff at Dell Children's Medical Center, Peyton did not survive his injuries.  On that day, he was one of 123 people in the United States (on average) that lost their life to suicide.  

Now I am left to wonder what might have been. For me, there are no senior pictures or the last first day of school pictures.  There will be no prodding and poking to get college applications sent in, no anxious days spent waiting for a reply, and no celebrations or consolations when word finally comes.  There will be no class rank, senioritis, no "I don't have to turn it in, and I will still pass." There will be no invitations, caps, gowns, or tassels. There will be no prom, tuxedos, limos, or awkwardly posed pictures with friends.  Finally, there will be no sitting through the tedium of speeches, introductions, and marches just to hear them announce "Peyton Andrew James".  Sadly, I am not the first parent to go through this, and even worse, I won't be the last.

According to the most recent statistics from the CDC, there were more than 45,000 suicides in the United States in 2016, an average 123 per day, and a 30% increase since 1999.  For teens, the rate of suicide has rose more than 70% since 2006. Even among preteens, the number has more than doubled, most recently, 9 year old Jamel Myles of Denver Colorado took his life after being bullied at school.  So what to do?

Approximately 20 states, including Texas,  have some sort of legislation that requires annual teacher training in suicide recognition.  Unfortunately, many states leave it to the individual districts as to how to approach the training.  This means that some districts will delve deeply into the training, others will do as little as possible in order to satisfy the state minimums.  Recently however, New York and Virginia passed state laws requiring mental health education as part of the curriculum.  These laws recognized the need for understanding mental health (the leading cause of suicide) for all students.  The Virginia law mandates that mental health education be part of the curricula for 9th and 10th graders, while the New York law changes the overall health education curriculum in elementary, middle school, and high school.  Laws such as this will go further to addressing the most common contributing factor in suicides.  Unfortunately, with most educators already being overburdened, and most educational systems being underfunded, it is hard to see laws such as Virginia's and New York's becoming the rule and not the exception.

On average, every day, 11 youths will lose their life to suicide.  Eleven families will be destroyed.  Eleven communities will be left to wonder what happened.  Eleven schools will bring in counselors for any students who may need to talk.  Some of those schools will address the problem head on, implement policies and procedures to make sure that it never happens again, some will allow a period of mourning and then go back to business as usual, and others still will fight to go back to the status quo, prepare for the state testing and pretend that it never happened, until it does again.

So as we all slow down in school zones, cheer our hearts out on Friday nights, complain about the amount of homework that the teachers assign, or gas up the minivan to taxi the kids from lessons to practice to tutorials, or invest in a homecoming mum that will rival a Rose Bowl float (Texans know what I'm talking about), let's take a minute to think about the senior year, or any other year, that never will be.

Spade and Bourdain: Bad Journalism, Misunderstandings, and Trolls

 “Life is complicated. It’s filled with nuance. It’s unsatisfying... If I believe in anything, it is doubt. The root cause of all life’s problems is looking for a simple f*cking answer.” -Anthony Bourdain

Last week was a bitch.  I'm not going to lie and sugar coat anything.  The world lost two high profile people to suicide in Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain.  These were not people that were famous for being famous, but had actually made real contributions to society.  Kate Spade was a designer, and like many, worker her way to the top.  She had become famous for her handbags, and while I never saw the point of paying $500 for a purse, I can see why some people would.  Bourdain became famous when he wrote the book Kitchen Confidential.  Ironically, Bourdain never expected to become famous through his book in fact he said "'Kitchen Confidential' wasn't a cautionary or an expose. I wrote it as an entertainment for New York tri-state area line cooks and restaurant lifers, basically; I had no expectation that it would move as far west as Philadelphia.'" It was his acerbic wit that I came to appreciate when he described a Top Chef's broccoli dish as something you might find behind Bob Marley's refrigerator.  I enjoyed watching his show as he traveled the world discovering exotic cuisine, as well as the people behind it.  

Sadly, both Spade and Bourdain chose to take their lives this past week.  Their deaths were the most high profile suicides of 2018, and perhaps the most high profile since Robin Williams in 2014.  Like so many other people, I began to read news reports about their deaths.  This is where I saw a plethora of poor choices from the media.  I understand that journalism has become a cut throat business with the advent of the 24 hour news cycle, and that journalists are having to constantly go above and beyond to get headlines and not be upstaged, but when they chose to report not only that Spade had hanged herself, but that she had used a red scarf on the back of the door, that was a little too much.  The same goes for reporting that Bourdain used the belt from his bathrobe.  Information like this is not truly necessary, especially specific details about how they died.  That is private information that is up to the family to discuss, but in their effort to gain viewers, followers, or readers, reporters will prostitute themselves with lurid details.  The other problem I had with the media coverage was the use of the term "committed suicide".  Those who have lost some one to suicide, as well as mental health and suicide  awareness advocates prefer the term "died by suicide".  Aside from the idea that the word "committed" suggests that the person had some sort of criminal intent.   Using the preferred term removes the culpability from the person who has lost their life.  

Another troubling trend I noticed was the amount of misunderstanding that so many people seem to have in regards to suicide.  As I began to look at comments on social media, I was astonished at the number of people that thought that because Spade and Bourdain were considered wealthy and successful, that they could have anything they wanted, and live comfortably, that they wouldn't want to take their own lives.  Although being financially secure can provide access to mental health treatment that may not be readily available in lower socioeconomic parts of our society, it doesn't mean that the person is likely to pursue that avenue.  In many parts of our society, people may be reluctant to seek treatment because of the stigma attached to mental illness, and even if they do, there is no guarantee that it will work. Spade's husband said that she had sought out professional help, but just like another medical treatment, there is no 100% guarantee of success.  When a person sees no hope, or the psychological pain of mental illness becomes too much to bear, then they will do what ever they feel is necessary to make it stop, even if what they do makes no sense to some one that has not travelled down that road.  For example, I noticed that people wondered why Spade and Bourdain would take their own lives when they left young children behind.  In the mind of some one that is suicidal, they may actually believe that they have become a burden to their loved ones, and have convinced themselves that their children, spouses, their other loved ones, and even the world, would be better off without them.  This is why the need to education and understanding is so necessary.  

That brings us to the trolls.  Not the ones from childhood that lived under a bridge, these are the one's that live in their parent's basement and hide behind false screen names.  These trolls will go on social media and make horrific comments about the deceased such as "suicide is for cowards" or "only the weak commit suicide".  These trolls love to come into a discussion and stir the pot, an crave the attention that they get whether good or bad.  They are the proverbial little man that walks into a bar, starts a fight, and then runs outside to watch.  Your anger at their remarks feeds that part of their soul that never fully developed.  Their insignificant lives are fulfilled by your wrath as long as they are safely behind a keyboard in a far away place where you can't physically get to them.  They think that by causing a rift, that they can some how make up of being picked last in gym class. After my son Peyton's suicide, I saw these trolls flock to stories about him like flies to sh*t.  They liked to say how it was my fault that Peyton had taken his life, they said that Peyton was weak and a coward, all the while forgetting that they are hiding behind a keyboard and false identity far, far away.  I learned that engaging these dolts only emboldens them, but ignoring them, no matter how great the urge to reply to their idiocy, will eventually cause them to slink away.

Between the deaths of Spade and Bourdain, as well as the recent statistics from the CDC that show a dramatic rise in suicide rates across the United States, perhaps it is time to open our eyes to what is going on, and attack the problem head on. First and foremost is the desperate need for addressing and educating the public about mental health issues (the leading cause of suicide), as well as taking away the stigma attached to those issues.  A person's mental health issues can be treated just like any other issue.  Just like early intervention with cancer and leukemia can dramatically increase survival rates, so it goes with mental health.  We know that if we keep putting off treatment until it reaches the end stage, then survival is much less likely.  We can start with the media reporting responsibly and not sensationally.  We don't need to know the method of suicide, or what color scarf they used.  Each report of a suicide should be followed with information for readers and viewers to access crisis hotlines and other helpful information.  We can bridge the misunderstandings that people have about suicide through education and understanding.  As for the trolls, they will always be there, lurking in the shadows waiting for the next tragedy, but the more we know, the easier it becomes to ignore them.  

Why I Walk: Honoring A Son Lost To Suicide

We must...We must bring our own light to the darkness. -Charles Bukowski

On June 2, 2018, I have the distinct honor of participating in the Honor Bead Ceremony before the American Foundation of Suicide Prevention's Overnight Walk in Dallas.  As part of the Ceremony, I was asked to come up with 3-5 sentences explaining "Why I Walk".  I sat down and tried to come up with 3-5 sentences, but it went way beyond that.  Here is Why I Walk:

I walk because Peyton can't.  Peyton is my forever 13 year old son who took his life in October of 2014. I was not only to keep Peyton's memory alive, but the memory of Jack, and Cathy, and Josh, and Jonald, and Hannah, and Cassidy, and Steven, and Ronnie, and far too many others that left this world too soon.  

I walk for me and the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, acquaintances, class mates, and total strangers whose lives will never be the same because of suicide.  

I walk for all of those who battle with mental health conditions. These conditions beat them down with a crippling pain that makes them think that the only solution is to end their lives.  These issues have convinced them that everyone they know an love is better off and happier without them in their lives.

Finally, I walk for me.  In the three plus years since Peyton's death, I have realized that there is a need for me to walk.  I cannot sit by and turn a blind eye while more than 40,000 people in American take their lives every year, I cannot sit by while suicide becomes the second leading cause of death in young people, and I cannot sit by while people continue to ignore causes and effects of suicide because the thought of discussing such a sensitive subject makes them uncomfortable.  I have news for those people, burying a loved one lost to suicide is a hell of a lot more uncomfortable than talking about it. I'm sorry if they are uncomfortable, but if talking about suicide can save even one life, then they are going to have to deal with it.  

And THAT is why I walk.  

Signs From My Son On The Other Side

Those we love don't go away, they walk beside us every day.

Unseen, unheard, but always near; still loved, still missed and very dear.

~Anonymous~

On October 8, 2014, my 13 year old son Peyton hanged himself in his bedroom at his mother's house in Georgetown, Texas.  At the time, I was 160 miles away in The Woodlands, Texas.  I was just leaving work when I got the call from his mother.  I was in the process of leaving work when his mother called. I had just finished sprinting through the rain to my truck when she called.  After hanging up, I sat in the cab of the truck, screaming, yelling, pounding on the steering wheel and punching the roof.  I had tears streaming down my face and snot running out of my nose.  I begged God to take my life instead, to let Peyton live. Until my wife Lisa arrived to pick me up, I kept pleading for God to take me from the Earth if only Peyton could live.  

For the next five days I sat buy his side in the PICU at Dell Children's Medical Center in Austin, and  was at his side on October 13th when he passed.  The entire time he was in the hospital, I continued to plead with God to take my life instead.  I even went so far as to visit the chapel  in the hospital, get down on my hands and knees, and beg for God to take me instead.

My faith had taught me that there was a heaven, and that it was a reward for those that had let Christ into their lives.  Peyton had been baptized, and truly loved going to church, so I believed he was in a better place where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.  However, from the time he hanged himself until the time he passed , he never regained consciousness, and aside from one brief moment, he never made any movement that wasn't involuntary, so I truly wanted to know that he was okay.  Upon returning home, I spent a lot of time at the prayer fountain at my church talking to Peyton.  I  did what most grieving parents did and asked for a sign that he was okay.

In the week between Peyton's passing and his funeral, I took advantage of the beautiful October weather that we Texans look forward to after our brutal summers.  Whether it was sitting on the deck reading, fixing the fence, or taking our Corgi, Earl, for a walk, I noticed an abundance of butterflies and dragonflies.  Neither one is unusual in Texas in October, so I thought nothing of it even though they seemed to be where ever I went.  I also noted a spike in Earl's activity.  Normally content to spend the evenings sprawled out on the cool tile floor of the kitchen, he would walk into the living room, look into a spot where no one was sitting and let out a cross between a howl and a growl, get very excited, and wiggle his tailless booty.  When we would call out to him, it seemed to break his trance, and he looked around wondering why we were all staring at him.

None of these alone were unusual, but combined they seemed too much of a coincidence, especially when people began to ask me if I had dreams about where I talked to Peyton, or had seen signs that his spirit was still around.  For example, both the butterfly and the dragonfly are both considered to be spiritual messengers.  Even though there is no scientific proof that dogs can or can't see spirits, there are those that believe that they can.  Maybe this is just my mind (and many others) seeing what it wants to see, or wishful thinking on our part as well.  I began to read various articles, blogs and postings about signs from our loved ones.  Then again, it is one of the many unexplained phenomena that that people argue the existence of.  They talk about everything from physical signs such as coins and seashells, to music, numbers, and smells.  The funny thing is, I never saw these signs when I was looking for them, but rather when I wasn't even thinking about Peyton.

Over the last three and a half years, I have seen these signs occasionally, but never really put much thought into it.  My daughter and Emmy and I  would see a cardinal or a dragonfly and say "It's Peyton", but never put much though into it until this past February.

Last year, for the first time since Peyton's death, I decided to take a chance and began looking to make a change in my working situation.  I have been the assistant swim coach for several years, and decided that I wanted to be a head coach.  It was a big move for me.  The experts say that after a traumatic death like a suicide, no major decisions should be made. They say don't move, don't change jobs, don't do anything during that time that you may look back on and regret.  This was a bold step for me.  I was still battling depression and anxiety, not exactly ideal circumstances for a job hunter.  I had several interviews, but nothing panned out, but rather than give up, I decided that I would try again this year.

Two new high schools (one in my district) were opening locally, and I thought that I might have a chance to start the program.  After talking things over with my wife, I decided to put my name in for both jobs.  I also talked to Peyton about it.  Now some people would scratch their head wondering why I would talk to my deceased son for permission.  Through the Peyton Heart Project,  I go to schools in order to tell the students Peyton's story and explain to them about mental health issues, bullying, and suicide awareness and prevention.  Should I become a head coach, I would have to drastically reduce my speaking engagements to fulfill my duties as a head coach.  I wanted Peyton to know what I was doing and why, that I still intended to honor his memory and legacy, but it would have to be on a smaller scale.

Any one that has ever looked for a job knows that the waiting is the worst part.  I spent hours working on updating and improving my resume, composing a cover letter, and dotting the "I's" and crossing the "T's" on the applications.  Once the jobs were posted, I applied immediately, I emailed the principals and athletic directors, then sat back to wait.  Nothing.  I heard no response from anyone.  One of the jobs was even posted three times, each time whittling down the teaching fields (of which I possess one).  I don't know which is  worse, the anxiety of waiting, or the depression that sets in at the end of each day when I don't hear anything.  I make inquiries, I talk to people in the know, email the appropriate people to keep my name in mind.  Nothing.

Some days are worse than others.  On those days, I talk to Peyton and ask him if he wants me to keep pursuing these jobs.  There are days when I wonder if he does, but it never fails that when I am at my lowest, Peyton sends me a sign.  The first came when I was taking some uniforms to the swim team's equipment cage.  I opened up the door, and there, sitting on the floor was a dime.  Most of the time, I would have thought nothing of it, picked it up and pocketed it for Emmy to put in her piggy bank, but this was not one of those times.  It had been a rough day, and I needed a sign, and there it was.  A few days later, it was a quarter, and a few more after that, it was a nickel.  All of these were found at the school.  Silver money doesn't last on the floor very long.  Any coin that can go into a vending machine gets snapped up quickly, but there it was in plain sight waiting for me.

The most telling sign from Peyton came last week in the form of a dragonfly.  Emmy and I were at the park one afternoon.  As she was burning off an excess of energy on the playground, I was sitting on one of the benches looking at job postings on my phone.  It was discouraging because there seemed to be no openings locally that I was interested in.  As I was scrolling, I was surprised by a dragonfly.  I swatted at it and sent it flying away.  After hitting it, I was struck by what it could have represented and apologized to it for my behavior.  After Emmy finished playing and throwing rocks into the pond, we walked to the bike rack.  I took my bike off the rack and as I waited for Emmy to get her helmet on, the same dragonfly (or his twin brother) landed on one of my tires.  It sat patiently while I slowly reached out to it.  Instead of flying off, it jumped off of the tire and onto my finger.  It stayed there as I called Emmy over to look at it, and even with Emmy bouncing around, it didn't move.  It was then that I was convinced that it was a visit from Peyton.

I know there are a lot of people thinking that I am full of crap, or that I am just seeing what I want to see.  Maybe I am.  There are those that will claim there is no life after death.  Maybe they are right.  Maybe I am just hoping for something that doesn't exist to ease my conscience and pain.  Maybe I am looking in all the wrong places for solace.  But what if I am right.   Of course there are those that need no proof, just their faith to say there is life after death, but there are those that say that there is an afterlife, and even claim scientific evidence.  When push comes to shove, I'll take what ever keeps my son alive in my heart.

*Author's Note:  On Wednesday, May 2nd, I was having another bad day.  I was feeling hopeless, especially as the school year winds down.  On my way to my car, I had to maneuver around a car that was in my usual path.  As I went around, there was a penny on the ground in front of me.  It was old, tarnished and scratched up, but it was still a sign.  When I got home, I took Earl for a walk.  Along the way, I saw a cardinal sitting on a sign as we walked past, and further on, the same dragonfly seemed to follow us along the sidewalk, several butterflies were taking advantage of the spring bloom Say what you want, but I will take these as a sign.

If you have read this far, please take a few minutes to view the video I collaborated on with Project Caleb and The Peyton Heart Project.  Thank you.

"A Day Without Peyton"