There was no good way to say it when it happened.There is no good way to say it now.But this is how Sean Taylor's death struck me then, so I will continue to make this silent tributefor as long as the feelings remain unchanged. (Reprinted from November 28, 2007)It’s not a long drive to my son’s high school, maybe 15 minutes.Most mornings, we share sleepy wise cracks—which of us looks worse; whose day projects out the bigger pain; the lameness of a certain radio commercial.Sometimes we talk daily routine—remembering to turn in an order form; calling if he needs to be picked up; the logistics of an upcoming outing with friends.Sometimes we talk a little sports. Redskins, mostly.Once in a while, as events dictate, we talk real life—there will be other girls; they just discovered an Earth-like planet 20 light-years away; it’s junior year partner, these grades count.Tuesday morning, we rode in silence.He’d had a strange look on his face as he came down the hall from the living room...
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