Turner remembers Trevor as a small kid who loved being outdoors and sneaking into the old grist mill near the river on the family property with her on their way to the upper part of the swimming hole. The last time she saw him was when Jim's aunt Ruth passed away in September 1995, and the family gathered for the funeral, just a few years after the "Jeremy" video. "We walked from the gravesite and went into this grocery store in town, and some kids recognized him from the video and got all excited," she says. (Embarrassed, or just not interested, Trevor kept his head down and didn't talk to the fans.)
As he entered his thirties, however, Trevor looked nothing like the kid in the Pearl Jam video, and people hardly ever recognized him anymore, which was fine with him. He still got some of the perks, Diane recalls, including a promise from the band that any time they came to New York he could get free tickets for life, and hang out with them if time allowed -- a vow they kept until his death. "They've always been so nice to us, and even when Trevor didn't ask in a timely fashion [for tickets], they would accommodate him," she says of the PJ camp.
After bouncing around at a few jobs, including an IT gig that ended when the economy melted down in 2008, and a stint doing production work for a friend's company, Trevor had started sending out job applications again from his Brooklyn loft in the months before his death. He had honed in on getting a U.N. posting in Myanmar, after turning down a chance to get a post in Lebanon.
Looking to clear his head and do some research on Myanmar before he packed up again, Wilson went down to Puerto Rico in July 2016 to relax before his next posting, and sneak in what would likely be his last vacation for a while.
Graneri, who's had an apartment in Puerto Rico since 2003, gladly offered Trevor a list of connections and places to stay while his friend searched for that “a-ha” moment to inspire his next adventure. “A couple of weeks turned into a few months, where he was writing, working on his resume and getting in touch with old contacts,” Graneri says.
With a hole in his schedule, Graneri planned an impromptu trip down last June to hang with Trevor for a long weekend. “It was a Sunday, and me and two of my good friends and Trevor drove out to the mountains to an authentic German restaurant… we spent the day eating there, and then the afternoon on the beach,” he vividly recalls of the last time he saw his friend before that fateful August day. “There’s no special moment per se, but it was just the last amazing day we spent together.”
Diane says Trevor had been doing a lot of soul searching and contemplating in the week before his death. “'Mom, I can't believe I'm going to be 37, where did the years go? I can't believe how serious life really is,'" Diane remembers him saying. Trevor was looking at his still-slim, but now more filled-out body, thinking about how he was getting older and looking forward to the next chapter, and maybe some new business ventures. Before he left New York, he and Diane had begun work on an herbal tea business, along with the home-brewed mead recipe he and a friend were cooking up as another potential side gig.
Trevor had always been his mom's IT guy, and the day he died, she spoke to him 10 minutes before he went down to popular Ocean Park beach in the Puerto Rican capital of San Juan. It was around four in the afternoon and she asked him what to do about a computer hard drive that had melted down. "The last conversation with him he said, 'I'm going in for a swim and then I'll try to meet up with [his cousin] for dinner.' But then I had a feeling, because all of a sudden [his cousin] couldn't get in touch with him, and he didn't answer."