Column: Why I Couldn't Do The News Today

*This is an opinion column*

There's no such thing as a typical or routine fatal wreck, but after a decade of working in this business, it's hard not to develop a degree of numbness to tragedy in order to keep your head screwed on straight.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, that defense mechanism would be rendered useless Friday morning when I woke up to news of a two-car wreck in Northport on Highway 69 North past Charlie Shirley Road that resulted in the deaths of two people. Not thinking more of it than I normally would, I drove a short distance to the scene to snap a few photos for a quick story.

WVUA 23's Mike Royer and I watched as the two vehicles were towed from the scene and while both of us were taken aback by the wreckage, we had jobs to do and it seemed like any other morning, as awful and callous as that sounds. It's important for me to mention that because when doing the news, you're taught to almost be an automaton, devoid of any emotions or connections that could cloud your ability to tell a story through an objective lens. I can say from experience that repetition makes each tragedy somewhat easier to cope with and that thick skin developed over time is important in keeping your wits about you in this profession.

But as I'm flicking through photos on my phone and walking back to my car from where police had blocked off the highway, I get a text from my Mama asking if I had talked to my younger brother, Brad. I fired off three quick messages in response, frantic, before she responded telling me that Ryan Perry, 27, was one of the people killed Friday morning in the same wreck I was out covering ... seconds after I was completely unaware that I had just watched his truck towed away.

I immediately fell apart right there.

A close friend to my brother and like a little brother to me, I'd known Ryan for years and loved him like family. A much better quarterback than I ever was — a topic we would crack jokes about — I remember watching him go from playing football at Northside High to being a football manager at Alabama and then chasing his dream of becoming a full-time football coach. He loved the kids he was involved with and his passion not only for the game, but being a mentor to young men, was evident in the different stops he made as a part-time assistant coach, most recently at Carbon Hill, along with stints at Riverside Middle and Holy Spirit Catholic School. We might've shared more laughs than anything, but he was always serious about his coaching and always proud of those kids.

Because of our shared initials and his love for sports slang, he often called me "RP1," while referring to himself as "RP2" ... and I'm sobbing like a child just writing that sentence because I know I didn't appreciate it enough the last time he said it.

The last time I saw him was in April during The Masters, as Brad worked behind the bar and we sat on the other side for close to two hours, talking about everything from his taste in vintage trucker hats to cryptocurrencies. In hindsight, though, it sticks out in my mind that we got distracted, parted ways and I never told him I loved him like a little brother, which I almost always do when seeing my brother's friends who I've watched grow up.

I'd give a whole hell of a lot to have that moment back.

And what I wouldn't give right now to hear one of his self-deprecating, knee-slapper stories about being a football manager for Alabama coach Nick Saban. I hate clichés, but he really had an infectious way of making you laugh and was a heavily-underrated storyteller. Ryan was full of life, an unstoppable force of nature and one of the last people I ever expected to have to write about in the past tense.

I wasn't even sure how to cope with the news this morning and my professional ethics were rocked to their foundation because a news story had now become much more than words on paper or a sterile announcement from the authorities. The excitement and adrenaline I normally cruise on at wrecks and crime scenes was immediately drained from my core and replaced with a suffocating feeling not unlike a panic attack.

I've written well over a hundred fatal wreck stories in my career and countless more about loss and heartbreak, but never once about someone I was this close to. The entire gut-wrenching situation even has me questioning my approach to similar stories moving forward.

How can I ever publish a wreck photo again?

How will I ever be able to go to another accident or crime scene in Tuscaloosa County without laboring under the fear that I might know someone involved?

I spent my adult life chasing my career all over the southeast, but only until recently did that job bring me back to my hometown. And while being from Tuscaloosa — Northport, specifically —gives me something of an advantage as a journalist in knowing the names of people's "mamas and daddys," I was reminded today just how heartbreaking and unpredictable this job can be in a place where you are so close to so many people.

Friday's wreck also came less than a week after Northside High senior Josh Lucas was killed in a wreck in Walker County as he returned from National Guard training in Jasper with two friends, one being a fellow Northside senior I've watched grow up.

Suffice it to say, there's a whole lot of hurt on the north end of the county as I write this, but I hope people now have a more acute awareness of just how precious every moment is.

My heart, good vibes and anything else I can offer go out to Ryan's family, who are some of the best people you could ever meet, as well as the family of the other victim in Friday morning's wreck. After a year of writing every day about loss and sadness, that repetition can't get me acclimated to how this feels. It's as if I've lost my own brother.

But I'm also going to make it a point from here on out to do a better job showing the people I care about that I love them and I suggest you do the same. Every second that passes on this earth is one we will never get back.

Ryan Phillips is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist and the founder of Tuscaloosa Patch. The views expressed in this opinion column are his alone. For questions or feedback, email ryan.phillips@patch.com.