Jason Ryan Hall

I still remember so much about the first time I met him. It has been 20 years ago, and I can still see it. No more than 12 years old myself, a young Jason stood on the stage at Hemphill Freewill Baptist Church entertaining himself during our mutual cousin's wedding reception by signing extremely loud and off-key his own version of "Forever and Ever Amen." At the time I remember thinking, "This kid is loud and rude. Will someone please shut him up?" It did not take me long to realize and appreciate this to be Jason's personality. He enjoyed life and all it had to offer. He lived in the moment, often much to his parents detriment, and he never worried about what other people thought.

Jason and I went to high school together all four years. We spoke when we came across each other, but never really had a lot of interaction until my Senior Year. We ended up in several classes together, including Physics. That was the first year of the new "KERA" structure, and we had a new class called Independent Study. The real goal of this was to allow us to expand our minds independently in an unstructured format, but true to the teenager spirit, we had other plans of our own which we quickly implemented -- Spades and Rook. Playing cards became the new standard school supply equipment for all student, and Jason and I were no different. Because we sat across from each other in class, it only made sense for us to become card partners. We were the odd couple if there ever was one. The rebel mischief maker, Jason, paired up with the class nerd. I taught him strategy. He taught me to cheat.

We became real card sharks, and during our trips to Lake Cumberland, we were able to take down everyone. No one knew that Jason had taught me to stack the deck, or that Jason could read my eyes to know what cards I held. We could dominate any card game, and we enjoyed it. For once, I felt like I belonged to a part of the "in-crowd" just from the friendship that I shared with him.

That friendship carried us through several years. I went off to college. Jason, started college, and floundered for a couple of years trying to decide where he fit into the world. When we were unable to talk (because my boyfriend at the time was jealous), Mom kept me updated with his life. I silently rooted and prayed he would find his place in the world because I knew he was really a wonderful person.

I remember like it was yesterday the last time I saw Jason. It was the first night of my Dad's funeral visitation, and I was numb. Daddy's death had been sudden and without warning. I was walking around in a daze and felt all alone because Mike had to go back to Richmond leaving me without anyone to cling to in grief. The evening church service was over, and the funeral home was crowded. I was walking from the back on the chapel, and there stood Jason in the center of the aisle dressed in a camel colored suit arms stretched out wide looking at me. I went straight to him and curled up in his arms. The flood gates opened, and I decompressed.

I cannot tell you how long we stood there. I cannot tell you how my fiance's family felt to see some other man comfort me in such a dark time of my life, but what I can tell you is that for two days I had felt nothing other than ache, and Jason was able to make me feel relief. We finally moved to some chairs and talked. Jason made me forget all my pain for a few minutes, and even get me to chuckle. He explained that he had decided to enlist in the army and go work for the president. He had a love for airplanes, and this was one way he could use that love. We said our good-byes and agreed to not let it go so long without talking; unfortunately, we did not know it would be the last time we would ever speak.

Fast-forward fifteen months... I was starting my last year of college. I had completed my first co-op term for Ashland, Inc, that summer, left Mike and my engagement ring for good, was impatiently waiting the arrival of my middle sister's first child, due any day, and been back at college for a week after loosing my favorite uncle in much the same way that my father died. It was Monday morning, and I did not have classes. My plan was to get ready and go to my second job working as a Data Entry clerk for an office on campus. Most mornings I turned the tv on CNN and went to take my shower. This day, for some reason, I skipped the tv and went straight to the shower. When I came back to my room, I had a message on the answering machine from Mom telling me that I needed to call home. I knew something was wrong because Mom did not call "off schedule."

I immediately called, expecting she would give me the news that my sister had gone into labor, but the news she gave me was much different. She said that she wanted to catch me before I saw it on tv. Jason, now a jump master, had been taking off for a jump and something happened with the plane. One of the wings had touched the ground, and the plane had crashed. There were no survivors.

The room spun. My heart skipped a beat. The world stopped for a brief moment and the light of the world dimmed just a bit. A wonderful part of the world was gone. A friend had left and would not return. Someone who had been a comfort for me even though we were unable to talk often, would no longer fill that role in my life.

The funeral was held the following Sunday. I had spent Friday night into Saturday morning waiting in the hospital waiting room as my sister brought my nephew Tyler into the world. When I called back to Lexington to share the news with friends, they told me that although God had taken Jason away they had given me someone to feel the void. To this day, I sometimes look at Tyler and see a bit of Jason's mischief in his eyes. It's a small spark that hits his eyes just before he starts into a prank.

I still visit Jason's grave as often as I can. I tell him how things are going, often have conversations with him in my head, looking to his memory for guidance and direction on the things he always offered me advice on. I think back to those days in high school and the time we spent at the Lake House in Cumberland. I wonder what he would say about where I am now and the many messes I continue to get myself into. Sometimes I hear him laugh at me when I'm a clutz or do something stupid. His obituary sits in a frame in my house. I am sure to most it seems strange, but to me, it serves as a reminder of his zest for life and how I need to strive for that as well. I may not always do him justice, but it reminds me to keep trying.