Isabella Taylor
As a little girl, I often recall a lime-green, plastic cup slipping out of my small, preschool hands. Full to the brim with OJ, the cup always seemed to feel huge and infinitely heavy to me in remembrance. I recall flashing a proud smile at my sisters whilst we made our way to my father’s bedroom on February 14th, 2011. Each of my sisters and I assisted my mom every year with a breakfast in bed for my dad, celebrating both his birthday and Valentine’s Day. I didn’t know I would be serving him OJ the last time I ever got to bring him breakfast, but personally, I don’t think anyone could have done it better.
I was barely four then, but every time I see those plastic, lime-green cups waves of memories flood me: the pure feeling of admiration, the warping of the cup from all that OJ, and the grandiose stature of the doorframe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen those green plastic cups in any of our homes after that last Birthday Party. In hindsight, those cups were pretty ugly, but with their riddance came a new era of beauty in the face of loss.
It’s never easy uprooting your entire life, especially one that had been meticulously planned out for years. A classical upbringing, strong Christian morals, an established community, a great school system, and an ever-growing neighborhood are even harder to leave in the past. Of course my mother made it look easy, and I barely understood the true depth of what she had to give up until I was much older. I’ll never fully understand it, but I have aimed to sympathize with her as best I can.Â
The way in which he passed was always left ambiguous, and instead, conversations leaped to his legacy rather than his leaving. As I aged, the memories of my father became mistier and muggier with each new storm brought about my life: a different house, a new state, a step-father, a half-sister. With each of these downpours came rainbows and hurricanes: happiness in abundance, and periods of sadness.
Last December, my mother, three of my sisters and I went on a military grief retreat in DisneyLand (pretty sweet I know) called Snowball Express. One evening, while my sisters were with kids of Gold Star families, my mother and I went walking hand-in-hand through a winding garden of American flags, searching for one with his name. As tear after tear slid down my cheek, and story after story flowed out of my mom, I understood more and more why my mother kept fighting to be the best for us even after he died.Â
Neal Patrick Taylor, my father, joined the military in 1994 because of a dream. He yearned to be a pilot and fly commercially. His admiration for flying led to enlistment in the Air Force as an Avionics Guidance and Control Journeyman. He served as such for 6 years at Leadership College, all whilst earning his college degree with the financial support of the military.
My mother helped him through all of his college education, earning him an Industrial/Organizational Psychology Undergraduate Degree, and my mother a Neuropsychology Undergraduate Degree. Her unwavering support gave my father the backbone to push through his degree and military training in college, specifically: Pilot Training, Guidance and Control Journeyman School, SEERS Training and MAFFS Training. Once he felt secure with his degree, my father decided it would be better to transition back to the civilian world, but he never lost his passion for flying.Â
A year or two later, the atrocity that was 9/11 occurred. With thousands of lives lost, and even more injured, Neal was deeply moved to protect his country by rejoining the military. He became a part of the Air National Guard, where he fulfilled his lifelong dream of becoming a C-130 pilot. He was sequentially stationed in Enid, Oklahoma, Corpus Christi Naval Air Station, Dobbins Air Reserve Base, and finally Charlotte Air National Guard Base. Later, he was deployed multiple times in Bagram, Afghanistan, and Haiti, fighting fires out west. Their missions consisted of depositing MAFFS Fire Repellent in order to snuff out disastrous fires along the west.Â
Neal was highly decorated. As a Captain, he had earned many awards throughout his years of service. Such as the Air Force Achievement Medal, Afghanistan Campaign Medal, Air Medal, and Air Force Good Conduct Medal. He also collected numerous Sales Awards, such as the Rookie of the Year, Salesperson of the Month, and “Can-Do” Award. Neal was a wonderful and priceless contributor to the US Military, but he was an even more inspiring father and husband.Â
His dedication to our family, this country, and God will be remembered for years, long after he sadly passed away on March 29th, 2012.