Not Without Hope (21 page)

We haven’t been close since. The most important thing for me is what the families think and how they are dealing with their loss. People have to be allowed to grieve in their own way. Everyone has been so supportive of me, asking me how I’m doing, even though they are the ones who lost someone. I do care about Rebekah and Delaney. I think about them a couple times a day. I keep a picture of Delaney and me at Chuck E. Cheese’s on the fridge. I still have a coloring book we had colored in on the table in the living room. I genuinely enjoyed hanging out with her. I wanted her to step out of the box and just let her be herself.

I respect any decisions the families make. At the same time, I feel like no matter whether we like it or what our feelings are, I’m always going to be connected to the families of Marquis, Corey, and Will. Even if we haven’t talked in five years, I’ll still feel that way, only I hope it’s not like that. I hope they don’t think, Oh, he’s only trying to contact us because of what happened or out of pity. That’s absolutely not true. Even though Marquis and I knew each other closely only a few months, we created a different relationship than I had with anyone else. It was more work than play, but I had
nothing but respect for him. I looked up to him. I can’t say that about a lot of people in my life at this stage.

I’m not going to give up. I hope I can be part of Rebekah and Delaney’s lives. One of the things I learned from Marquis is that family and relationships meant the most to him. He always said that he and Rebekah had one heartbeat and she was his anchor.

I
STARTED THE
Nick Schuyler Foundation, which will host an annual flag-football tournament and other activities, to raise money for the Corey Smith Child Development Center, the Will Bleakley Scholarship Fund, the Coast Guard Foundation, and other charities.

Marcia Schuyler:
I probably still go to bed every night crying. None of us are religious, but I pray every night and every morning, “Thank you, God, for saving my son. Please watch over him and my daughter.” I hope all of the others are together up there.

I think the toughest thing for Nick ever was to let go of Will. He asked Will to go on the trip. I think that’s going to eat at him forever.

Nick trains a little girl, Samantha, who is ten and has had an unfortunate life. She’s beaten leukemia, she has osteoporosis, and she’s had a stroke. She’s a little overweight. She’s a sweet girl, and she’s been through a lot already. Understandably, she’s been babied under the circumstances. When something hurts, her immediate reaction is “I quit.” Nick tries to teach her that it’s okay to hurt, to work through your pain threshold. He comes up with little games to get her to exercise: Nick Says instead
of Simon Says. He trains her at a little playground at her community pool. They play tag and follow the leader, and he’s made a little obstacle course. She has three dances, the hoedown–throw down, the ice-cream freeze, and break it down. She gets tired, things hurt on her body, and she wants to stop, but Nick keeps her moving: Slow it down, take a sec, don’t quit. He tells her never to use the word
can’t.

The tips of both of my big toes are still numb. It’s weird. I’ll randomly stub my toe and think it’s gonna hurt, but it doesn’t. My hip flexor and my groin on the right side are not quite the same. My right foot, from holding Marquis, wants to turn out. It’s not painful, but it’s annoying. My hip feels like it needs to crack and pop. I go to the chiropractor once a week. It’s tolerable, though. Every time I think of the accident, I know it could have been a lot worse.

I have a raised scar on my right foot and on one of the toes on my left foot from clinging to the underside of the boat. There is another scar on my calf, shaped like a cloud. The skin on my butt is still a little pink, but it has basically healed. My stomach has gotten better. For a while, I was either fine or I was starving. There was no in-between. Same thing with urinating. Either I’d be fine or I had to go right away. It was awful for a while. I felt like I was going to pee in my pants. Now it’s getting better. The doctor says maybe the muscle in my bladder goes into spasms. There is medicine for it. Maybe I should get it looked at.

Psychologically, it’s been a rough time. I’m back to my normal lifestyle, working full-time, trying to play basketball once a week and flag football on Saturdays. I try to have a life on the weekends. Some days are better than others. It’s definitely not the same without Will, my wingman. I lived in Ohio until I was twenty or
so, and when I came down to Tampa, he became one of my true friends, my best friend, here. To lose him and still live here, that’s hard to cope with.

On the other hand, I know every day is a blessing that I’m here. Every morning, I see this tattoo, and it reminds me how lucky I am to be here and how easily I could be gone. I’m lucky I had those three guys with me. I’m lucky Will went under the boat and got those life jackets. That he went under and got me Gatorade and pretzels. I’m lucky I got sick and had all my clothes on, unlike everyone else. I’m even lucky Marquis bought that boat, because it is virtually unsinkable.

I’ve gotten so many e-mails and calls and text messages, saying, “God has a plan for you, stay strong, you may not see it now.” I kind of see it both ways. I hope so, but why didn’t God have a plan for these guys, as good as they were? Why did He choose me out of the four?

Especially at first, I was angry. How could this happen to me? Am I this bad person? I don’t do drugs and steal. Why did it happen to Marquis and Corey and Will? They didn’t do those things, either. I keep seeing the same images of the guys and their last few minutes, their faces, and the things they said. That will stick with me for the rest of my life.

Everyone was so nice to me, but I worry that the other families will have a bit of hatred for me, or resentment, or whatever the word is. It was nothing they did or said, but I could see how they might say, “How the hell did you live, and my son or brother or husband didn’t?”

Sometimes I have dark moments. I’m selfish or feel sorry for myself or I get frustrated when things don’t go my way and lose my temper and blow up, and I say things like, “That’s God’s way of showing me I shouldn’t have made it through this,” or “I should have gone down with my friends,” or “Maybe I shouldn’t have
lived.” I’ll catch myself, or Paula will be around and say, “I can’t believe you said that.” That brings me back to reality.

I never thought about hurting myself. I never became suicidal. A lot of people say, “Are you seeing anyone? You should get help.” I’ve just never been a person to sit and tell someone my feelings, especially a stranger. I know a psychiatrist or a psychologist is a professional and would want to help and is there to listen, but I know no matter what they say, you can’t put yourself in that water and know how I loved these guys and how they died in my arms. I don’t see the positive aspect of sitting there and explaining myself to somebody. When people, my friends, asked me questions about the accident, I was fine talking about it. I felt I could trust them. They were just curious. To go and talk to a complete stranger, that was something I didn’t think was necessary. When my parents were divorced, I didn’t talk about it much. I’ve always kept my feelings reserved. When things go wrong, I lean toward going to the gym and working out.

After the accident, I focused on getting back in shape, taking out my stress and anger on the weights. It was hard at first. It still is. I had such grueling workouts with Marquis and Corey. It was exciting to be with them in the gym. We pushed one another. It could be hard, and sometimes you felt like you wanted to puke, but I felt such a sense of enjoyment and accomplishment. I’ve worked with people since, but it hasn’t had the same intensity. With them, I wanted to show off, to show that I was stronger and in better shape in so many aspects. It never felt like a job. With us, it was always, “Let’s do a couple more sets of this or that.” I switched gyms, not because I couldn’t go back, but because it was a more realistic way to run my career. But I definitely miss working with Corey and Marquis. I haven’t been able to push myself the same way. I don’t know if I’ll ever get that intensity or passion back.

An investigation by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission concluded that the accident was caused by three factors: improper tying of the anchor line to an eye bracket on the port side of the boat’s transom; attempting to throttle forward to pull the anchor free; and failure to leave enough slack in the line, which led the stern to submerge and the boat to capsize.

Looking back, there are quite a few things I wish we had done differently. The anchor situation, of course. I wish I hadn’t been as sick as I was. Maybe I would have been clearheaded enough to realize it was wrong to put the anchor line in the back of the boat. I didn’t think much about it at the time. It sounded like a good idea. It never went through my head that something like this could happen, that it would be the last time that Marquis and Corey would see the sun. How could this twenty-one-foot boat, weighing more than three thousand pounds, with four big-ass dudes and a load of fish, get pulled down by an inch-thick anchor rope?

We should have been better prepared to send a distress signal, even if it was only because the engine might shut down or we might run out of gas. We should have told people the exact location where we were going. We should have been better equipped with flares and flashlights. We should have been wearing life jackets on the boat or had a better idea of where they were stored.

It’s hard not to think, What if I had done this? What if I had done that? I was cold, but Will was obviously colder. What if I had let him wear my winter jacket? Or let him put my sweatshirt on? Maybe he would have lived longer. Or maybe it would have been a bad idea and he would have lived for a little while and I would have died, too. Who knows?

I wish I had found that steering cable earlier. Maybe I could
have tied us together and we could have held on, all four of us. So many what-ifs.

We did some things wrong, but once we were in the water, we did a lot right. We did anything and everything that could have been done. We stuck together. We got life jackets from under the boat. If one fell off the boat, the others worked to grab him. We communicated well. We tried to right the boat and use our cell phones. We fought. No one gave up. Everyone gave everything they had until their last breath.

Three weeks after the accident, the Detroit Lions announced that for the 2009 season no one would wear number 93, the number that Corey Smith had worn for the team. His teammates talked about the relentless way Smith played. “If you could see the way this man worked,” Galen Duncan, the Lions’ player development director, told the Associated Press.

On October 18, 2009, the Oakland Raiders won an unlikely victory over the Philadelphia Eagles. During the game, a pigeon lined up with the Raiders’ kickoff coverage team and flew downfield in formation with the players. Later, several of the Raiders told reporters that they believed the pigeon represented the spirit of Marquis Cooper. Even his mother, Donna Cooper, told one of her son’s teammates, “That was Marquis out there with you guys.”

On November 22, 2009, the Raiders dedicated a victory over the Cincinnati Bengals to Marquis. Rebekah and Delaney attended the game and were presented with a
game ball. Beforehand, Delaney seemed excited, linebacker Sam Williams told reporters, saying, “She said, ‘I get to see my daddy play!’ Man. I spread the word and everybody felt the emotions. It was special.”

A month after the accident, the Cleveland Cavaliers hooked me up with tickets when they came to play in Orlando. I finally got to meet LeBron James. He was a nice, humble guy. He asked how my mother was doing. Very sincere, very nice. First thing he said to me was, “I thought
I
was blessed.”

I
TRY TO
abide by the fortune-cookie phrases, to cherish every day and don’t take anything for granted. I try to move on, but it’s always in the back of my mind, the same questions. At the end of each month, they always come, like another bill to be paid. A month passes and I think about how I’ve tried to deal with it, and I keep reminding myself that I could be gone and Will could be here. Why did I live and the other three die? How are their families doing? Will’s parents lost a son; Rebekah lost a husband and the father of her daughter; Corey’s family lost a brother and a son—they lost blood. They were my friends, my best friend, but I didn’t lose blood.

Even now, I’ll be planning a weekend, or some other activity, and I’ll still think, Okay, I’ll call Will, or Let’s see what Will’s doing. And then I catch myself. Or I’ll call a person Will because I’m always thinking about him, seeing him in someone else’s face. When I watch TV, I think, Will used to sit on the couch where I’m sitting. When Paula and I go out, I think, Last New Year’s, we were with Will. Last Halloween, we were with Will. People ask me when I’m going to go camping again, and I wonder, Can I do this again without Will? It’s never going to be the same.

Since the accident, I’ve been to the beach, but not in the water. Last Memorial Day weekend, we went to Indian Rocks Beach, off of St. Pete Beach. We played beach volleyball. I put my foot in the water and told Kristen, “It’s about thirty degrees warmer than the last time I felt it.” I stared at the water. I didn’t want to go in—it made me sick to my stomach. Before, I would have jumped in to get the sand off. This time, I went to the public shower. We went back to the beach in July, and Paula and I sat there at sunset. Everyone else went back up to the beach house, and I sat out there for an hour and a half, looking out again at the water.

All the images came back, half-second glimpses of their faces and how the guys fought and what they said. It was awful. I tell someone this and they say, “Forget about it.” I can’t. I wish it were that easy. I lost three friends, including my best friend. They said their last words to me, and two of them died in my arms. Every time I look at the water, I get the same tormented feeling: My friends are still in there, and they’ll always be in there.