Natalie Taylor - Signs of Life: A Memoir

While this is a true story, some names and details have been changed to protect the identity of those who appear in the pages.

Copyright 2011 by Natalie Taylor

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Broadway Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

BROADWAY BOOKS and the Broadway Books colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening from the book THE POETRY OF ROBERT FROST , edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, 1969 by Henry Holt and Company. Copyright 1951 by Robert Frost. Reprinted by arrangement with Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

Picnic, Lightning from Picnic, Lightning, by Billy Collins, 1998. Reprinted by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

eISBN: 978-0-307-71751-1

Cover design by Laura Duffy
Front cover image: Hiroshi Higuchi/Getty Images

v3.1

For the two loves of my life, Josh and Kai

Thank you Sean Perrone and Aaron Kaplan for being the magical link from lifelong dream to real life. Howie Sanders, thank you so much for reading this and handing it to the right person.

Christy Fletcher, thank you for taking me on and sticking with me, despite the fact that I had zero knowledge in all things publishing.

Christine Pride, my amazing editor, the best teammate in the world, thank you for helping me create the best book possible and for always appreciating the crazy thoughts in my head.

Two Roads Books, our U.K. publisher, thank you so much for adopting Signs of Life.

A special thank-you to my grandmother Fran Narfy Stevenson for her last-minute copyedits. Narf, youre a real pro.

Nancy and Chip, thanks for joining the Familyno questions asked.

There are many, many other people in this world who were there for me after the death of my husband, Josh Taylor. Shortly after June 17, 2007, I fully believed my life was over. I would like to say thank you, a million times over, to those who worked ceaselessly to convince me that it wasnt. Turns out you were right.

More specifically, I would like to thank the following people for helping me put my life back together. This book happened only because of the love and support from the people around me.

Thank you students of Berkley High School. Like my own son, you drive me crazy and give me a reason to live. I love you all. Please read the books we give you.

Thank you to the staff of Berkley High School for turning a workplace into a community and for providing me with the secret ingredient of parenthood sanity: intellectual, adult conversation.

Thank you to my friends for rescuing me from the mess of bathrobe and sweatpants.

Thank you Chris Mathews for being Chris Mathews. If it werent for you, this book and my life would be horribly boring.

Thank you Ads, Ells, Moo, Dubs, and Hales for being my life coaches in how to be a mentally, physically, and emotionally strong person. I just watch what you guys do and then try to imitate it. Ive gotten a lot of mileage out of that. Never in a million years would I have the guts to write this if it hadnt been for the other Sztykiel children (plus two) cheering me on.

Thank you Deedee, Ashley, and Chris. I love you. I am so happy I married you. Please dont hate me.

Krystyna and George Sztykiel, better known as Grammy and Grampy, thank you for teaching us that there is one code to live by in life: take care of your family.

Finally, my parents, Lynn and Vito. Ever since we were little you told us we were strong enough, talented enough, and smart enough to do whatever we wanted and make every ambition come true. Thank you for always believing in your children. It is your best quality. Your love and support is the foundation of everything in my life. Because of you, I have never felt alone.

While this is a true story, the names of all of my students and the individuals who participated in the single mothers group and the grief group have been changed to protect their identities.

This memoir is a compilation of journal entries that I wrote following my husbands death. It is not a reflection that was written after time passed, it is what was in my brain at that moment. While this book has been edited in the appropriate respects, the experiences and personal thoughts have remained the same since the days they were originally typed into my computer, which is not to say I am proud of all the things I say and do, but it is to say that it is real to the person I was at that time, and, for better or worse, I am still very much the same neurotic, over-analytical nut-job you are about to meet.

mathews walks in the door. It is somewhere in the middle of the night. I wake up. Your phone is off. He says something about trying to call me, that people have been trying to call me. He says something about Josh. Josh has been in an accident. No big deal, I think to myself. Lets just go home. I picture a broken arm. I have a flash of seeing him in a hospital bed annoyed at an injury. Chris Mathews is one of my good friendshes Joshs best friend. Mathews and I are in Florida visiting my sister Moo and her husband, David. Josh, my husband, couldnt come because of work, so hes back in Michigan. I just hung up with him right before I lay down. He was out Carveboarding with our friend Nate. We just got to Miami this morning, but I dont care about leaving earlyI had reservations about leaving Josh anyway.

But there is something in Mathewss voice that isnt right. In moments, it registers. I know its more than a broken arm. Josh hit his head, he tells me. The back of his head. I talk to Nate. I ask if he was bleeding. He says yes. I picture a cut on his forehead. Where? I ask. His mouth.

I lie in Moos bed. All of the lights are off. Mathews is in the front of the house somewhere. Every now and then my left leg starts to shake uncontrollably. I go to the bathroom. I throw up a little. I go back and start shaking again. I go to the bathroom and have diarrhea. I go back and my leg starts shaking again. I put clothes back into my suitcase. I go to the bathroom again. No puke, no diarrhea. Nothing.

Moo comes in; there are a few frantic phone calls back and forth. No one gets on the phone with me. Mom and Dad talk to Moo. Moo relays words. I know. I know. No one says it, but I know.

Show me how to do like you. Show me how to do it.

DO LIKE YOU BY STEVIE WONDER, EPIGRAPH FROM ALICE WALKER, THE COLOR PURPLE

we leave for the airport. I have no idea what time it is. I am on the phone with a doctor. He asks me if Joshs heart stops, do I want to resuscitate him. I ask questions. I do not cry. He says something about severe brain damage, severe. I say no, do not resuscitate him. We hang up.

I call my mom.

The dogs, I say. Can someone go get the dogs?

Yes, she says.

We are on the plane. It is light out. We are sitting on the runway because the plane doesnt have any electricity or something. Moo is crying. I am not. There is a man standing at the front of the plane talking on a phone with his hand on his hip. He has no idea.