My brother, whose story feels unfinished
During the early-morning hours of Aug. 28, WHS graduate Jake Tooley passed away in a fire at his home on Prospect Street in Westfield. Jake, a 2016 alum, was 19 years old.
Hi’s Eye would like to honor his life by allowing his older brother Sam, a 2011 WHS alum and assistant coach of the WHS cross country and track teams, to speak of his younger brother whom he admired so much. The Hi’s Eye staff extends our condolences to the Tooley family.
Hi’s Eye would like to honor his life by allowing his older brother Sam, a 2011 WHS alum and assistant coach of the WHS cross country and track teams, to speak of his younger brother whom he admired so much. The Hi’s Eye staff extends our condolences to the Tooley family.
On Thursday, Aug. 31, 2017, I stood before a crowd of nearly a thousand people. I needed to tell them a story. My brother’s story.
I was trembling. My hands sweaty. My eyes filled with tears. I remember lying in bed hours before the service. I held my breath, clenched my fists, shut my eyes as hard as I could, and hoped that when I opened them, life would be back to normal. That this horrible dream would end. I repeated this cycle relentlessly. It was hopeless. I felt lost.
But as the service went on that hopelessness slowly turned. I found myself surrounded by the most important people in my life. Yet my eyes were glued to the pictures of Jake on stage. I could not look away. All I felt was his love. I could feel him speaking to me. Telling me it was going to be OK. And as I glanced around the room, making eye contact with so many people feeling so much of the same pain, their eyes were saying the same thing: “It’s going to be OK.”
Jake and I had a special relationship. And while many siblings I’m sure would say the same thing, I would argue ours was as deep as they come. I will be the first to admit I have taken much in my life for granted. Jake’s loyalty, however, did not fall under that category. It’s what I admired most about him. His deeply rooted sense of commitment to his family was unquestionable. He had my back—always and forever.
Much of our connection came out of a necessity. Struggle and pain has a way of bringing people together. Jake and I had our fair share of both, most recently with the passing of our dad. For me that served as a final wake-up call. It cemented my role and my purpose. I felt as though I had a duty. For a long time I had fallen short. I was not the brother I knew I could be. My priorities were skewed. But now it was clear—I was here to make Jake proud.
Most people would describe Jake as kind, caring, joyful and compassionate. I can’t argue with these. Jake embodied so much good. But there was more to it than that. He did so in the face of adversity. To me that constitutes bravery.
We all have our own battles. We walk the halls, scroll through social media, text and type and assume we know what the lives of our peers entail. But we don’t. Jake had more to overcome than most will ever know. For such a young man to fight the way he fought showed true strength. He was an absolute inspiration. He was a fighter.
As I looked around the church on my birthday, I was surrounded by all the traits that Jake embodied. I was surrounded by kind and caring people. I could feel their love, not only for Jake, but also for my family and me. I could sense their joy as we celebrated my brother’s life.
And I also needed their strength.
Jake’s story feels unfinished. My heart still aches for my brother. But I wake up each morning with the same mission as before: Make him proud.
I urge you to live with that same mindset. Live as Jake did with his unwavering loyalty and commitment to the ones he loved. Live as Jake did with his selflessness and compassion.
Live as Jake did with a sense of joy. Live life with the intention of making those who matter most proud. Chances are, you’ll be pretty proud of what you accomplish if you do.
I was trembling. My hands sweaty. My eyes filled with tears. I remember lying in bed hours before the service. I held my breath, clenched my fists, shut my eyes as hard as I could, and hoped that when I opened them, life would be back to normal. That this horrible dream would end. I repeated this cycle relentlessly. It was hopeless. I felt lost.
But as the service went on that hopelessness slowly turned. I found myself surrounded by the most important people in my life. Yet my eyes were glued to the pictures of Jake on stage. I could not look away. All I felt was his love. I could feel him speaking to me. Telling me it was going to be OK. And as I glanced around the room, making eye contact with so many people feeling so much of the same pain, their eyes were saying the same thing: “It’s going to be OK.”
Jake and I had a special relationship. And while many siblings I’m sure would say the same thing, I would argue ours was as deep as they come. I will be the first to admit I have taken much in my life for granted. Jake’s loyalty, however, did not fall under that category. It’s what I admired most about him. His deeply rooted sense of commitment to his family was unquestionable. He had my back—always and forever.
Much of our connection came out of a necessity. Struggle and pain has a way of bringing people together. Jake and I had our fair share of both, most recently with the passing of our dad. For me that served as a final wake-up call. It cemented my role and my purpose. I felt as though I had a duty. For a long time I had fallen short. I was not the brother I knew I could be. My priorities were skewed. But now it was clear—I was here to make Jake proud.
Most people would describe Jake as kind, caring, joyful and compassionate. I can’t argue with these. Jake embodied so much good. But there was more to it than that. He did so in the face of adversity. To me that constitutes bravery.
We all have our own battles. We walk the halls, scroll through social media, text and type and assume we know what the lives of our peers entail. But we don’t. Jake had more to overcome than most will ever know. For such a young man to fight the way he fought showed true strength. He was an absolute inspiration. He was a fighter.
As I looked around the church on my birthday, I was surrounded by all the traits that Jake embodied. I was surrounded by kind and caring people. I could feel their love, not only for Jake, but also for my family and me. I could sense their joy as we celebrated my brother’s life.
And I also needed their strength.
Jake’s story feels unfinished. My heart still aches for my brother. But I wake up each morning with the same mission as before: Make him proud.
I urge you to live with that same mindset. Live as Jake did with his unwavering loyalty and commitment to the ones he loved. Live as Jake did with his selflessness and compassion.
Live as Jake did with a sense of joy. Live life with the intention of making those who matter most proud. Chances are, you’ll be pretty proud of what you accomplish if you do.
“Jake was short in stature but had the biggest personality everywhere he went. He lit up every room he was in. His smile made you smile, and that’s something special.”
-Derrick Nelson, Jake’s middle school assistant principal
“The thing I will remember most about Jake is that ‘1,000-Watt Tooley smile.’ It was really infectious. I know somewhere Jake is looking down on us all with that big old smile of his.”
-Paul Valenzano, Jake’s high school counselor
Jake won with an 11-minute plank. This is what made him famous while everyone else was shaking. He was like stone and could hold it longer than anyone else.”
-Chris Tafelski, Jake’s cross country coach
The values that he displayed on a day-to-day basis is something I want our golfers to embody and carry on forever in Jake’s legacy.”
-Ryan Daly, Jake’s WHS golf coach from 2013-2016
