It’s five years since I got a 7 a.m. phone call on a Tuesday morning from the office to say Sean Taylor had died, and all I have still is the same emptiness. And questions. Hard questions. Some of which I know the answers to but don’t want to hear. And others no one can know.
I still wonder: How does a kid who had met Taylor — a friend of his sister who had attended a party once at his house — end up being part of a botched home invasion and robbery that ends up costing Taylor his life? How many bad decisions did he have to be a part of before he threw away his own life?