Tribute to Tyler

I walked into the shop this morning and instinctively knew something was different. Something was missing, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I sat down to wait for my mechanic to come into the shop from the garage. But he didn’t come, and this morning found out that he passed away a few months ago. Tyler was only 28 years old. Initially, I thought that maybe he had passed away from an illness, which would have been sad in and of itself, but I soon learned that he actually committed suicide by hanging himself. That sobering reality created an even deeper sting within me.

Tyler was someone who would give others the shirt off of his back. Someone who switched his own schedule multiple times in order to accommodate mine. Someone who would do additional needed repairs without charging me for them. Someone who would speak to those calling or coming into the shop in the kindest, most respectful manner, no matter how much he was juggling at one time. Someone who knew that he could have taken me for a lot of money due to my own lack of knowledge/expertise with cars and yet who did not, and instead demonstrated a cascade of decisions seeping with integrity through and through. It was an honor to watch him do what he did so well with that kind and gentle, yet assertive, manner that he had.

To think that he’s gone…that from one day to the next everything goes on without him was a complete shock to my system and I wasn’t expecting it. Tears welled up in my eyes as I talked to the new mechanic who is trying to fill Tyler’s shoes. It may sound strange that I would be so torn up about the loss of a man I barely knew and encountered dozens for only a few short minutes at a time, albeit dozens of times. Yet this man did impact me. It wasn’t what he knew, or what he could do, or even what he said. It was that I instinctively understood his heart and it was visibly demonstrated through the things he did.

The sadness of Tyler’s passing brought back to my remembrance the passing of a woman who worked at my son’s Christian school a few years ago. She was also the type of person who gave and gave and gave. To everyone. Few people, however, actually knew HER. Knew her struggles and her pain. Knew the doubts and fear she was wrestling with. Similarly, a friend of a close friend who always poured into others took her own life a few years ago under similar circumstances.

This writing is a call to action. Those people in our lives that we know who just give and give and give? Let’s make a concerted effort to find out what they are wrestling with, what keeps them up at night, and what we can do for them in order to add value to their lives. Let’s not be satisfied with consistently withdrawing from people who are so willing to give. 

We can’t be there for everyone, but everyone can be there for someone. Tyler needed a someone.

And today, in my sadness over a life cut short, my heart aches at this one simple truth:

 

Tyler didn’t hang on a cross. He hung from a noose. 

With wounds not visible for the world to see, but crushing him only on the inside. 

May you rest in peace, sweet Tyler. Until we meet again.