For the Nolan she knew

Most people only know him as the uniformed man in a photograph shared on social media thousands of times over — from narratives espoused by organizations that pride themselves on honoring fallen law enforcement officers.

They likely clicked on an emoji below a Facebook post detailing his death — some chose the heart, others the “hug” or crying face.

They offered and solicitated prayers for the fallen and his loved ones in the comment section.

And more than two years after the crash that took his life, they hear his name and think, immediately, of the North Carolina State Highway Patrol — and of all those who have died in the line of duty.

But Alexis Sanders would tell you that while she is grateful for the outpouring of support in the wake of her husband’s death, there are, in fact, two Nolans.

There is the man immortalized by strangers who know him, solely, as a fallen Trooper, and the husband, father, son, brother, and friend whose story seemingly got lost when his car struck a concrete culvert off I-795 in March 2020.

“I want people to remember that we were not just Highway Patrol — that he was Nolan, and we had a life. If anyone else dies, you don’t remember them for, you know, you would just be you. But when it comes to line of duty things, people forget that he was a ‘you,’” she said. “Personality wise, Nolan, he was wild. Very funny. Very fun. I have a million videos and he’s just doing the most all the time — dancing, singing, joking around. I guess, for me, the Nolan that you can read about when you Google his name, it comes up with this terrible Patrol picture he hated so bad, and it is just all about Highway Patrol. His personality, the real person, I don’t think gets portrayed well. And it’s hard.”

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Years ago, Alexis was in downtown Goldsboro at Center Street Jam — unwinding at the concert after work — when she received a message sent to her salon.

“So, this guy, Nolan, sends us this message. He used to shave his head with trimmers, and he had jacked up his eyebrow. He wanted it fixed,” she said. “I was like, ‘LOL, my dude. What guard did you use? I might be able to help you even it out.’”

His answer still brings a smile — and an eyeroll — to Alexis’ face.

“He said, ‘I didn’t use a guard,’” she said, shaking her head. “I’m thinking, ‘This guy is probably on his own.’ And if you look at his picture, them brows were no joke, so it was a catastrophe.”

To make matters worse, Nolan was in a pinch timewise, making it impossible for Alexis to try to remedy his mistake.

Their message exchange ended once he accepted that reality.

But then, he sent Alexis a friend request on Facebook.

She scanned his profile — trying to figure out his occupation.

“It said he was a DJ at Round-A-Bout skating rink,” she said, rolling her eyes a second time. “He was a clown. A full-blown clown.”

But something about Nolan intrigued her.

So, when he asked her out, she said, “Yes.”

A whirlwind romance filled with laughter later, they were married and, eventually, had a little girl.

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Laney Sanders.

That little girl, still an infant when her father passed, was the reason Alexis didn’t break the night a SHP sergeant delivered the news that Nolan was gone.

“That’s what people don’t understand. Nolan died at seven-something, and Laney had to go to bed an hour or so later. So, I’m like, our life is still going on. I still have to get my kid fed and put her to bed,” Alexis said. “Everyone is like, ‘I’ll do it for you.’ But right then, it was like, ‘No. Her life is going to have to stay as normal as possible.’”

The next morning, the young widow remained resolved to be strong while the world was seemingly crashing down all around her.

“I have told people this. When Laney got up the next morning, I made a point that day … we’re going to be normal. I don’t know how I did that, but my mind was already made up,” Alexis said. “I knew I couldn’t let this beat me because so many people were watching, and I had a kid to raise. If I would have crumbled in those beginning moments, she would have to grow up in a mess.”

It wasn’t always easy — from the overwhelming sight of some 4,000 Facebook requests from strangers in the days after Nolan’s crash and the funeral to attempting to navigate the SHP’s benefits process and feeling like she had to protect Laney from what felt like constant observation and judgement in public as if she were a local celebrity.

“It was insane and for a long time after, people would be like, ‘Your face looks familiar.’ Yeah, well, it’s probably because people have shared my family picture like thousands of times. At one point, and I can’t believe I even had to say this, but I had to be like, ‘Do not take a picture of my child,’” Alexis said. “People just don’t even act like you’re a human. We are people and it’s like, they take that away from you. So, I had to learn very quickly that I needed to protect my family and my daughter.”

But the experience only strengthened her resolve to both protect and take ownership of Nolan’s legacy — so that Laney would know not only what her father did for a living, but more importantly, who he really was and what he stood for.

“I think the benefit I have is that we got time. Nolan and I, we had our time. Laney really has the most of him quite literally pumping through her veins and she won’t remember. So, there’s a part of me that feels like she got really shortchanged. But it only sucks for us. It doesn’t suck for her right now because she doesn’t know,” Alexis said. “But I think what I would want her to know is the type of person he was. So maybe, yes, the uniform comes into that because you have to be a certain type of person to serve people and commit yourself. It’s not like they are doing it to get rich. They have that heart to serve people. But what I’m doing now, Nolan would love it. He would love the fact that we’re doing all this for the right reasons in his memory.”

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What she’s doing now is running the Nolan Sanders Foundation — an organization created to ensure what Alexis went through in the wake of her husband’s death didn’t happen to other family members of the fallen.

“I went into the whole thing blind. I didn’t know what was coming. I didn’t know what to expect any day. Every day, you’re getting punched in the gut. It’s like living a several- month-long anxiety attack,” she said. “At some point, they froze our bank account, so I didn’t get that check. They cancelled my health insurance because he didn’t pay the premium on the last day of the month like he was supposed to. It’s like, ‘What do you expect me to do? Should I have asked him to wait and die on the 31st? Now my kid doesn’t have health insurance.’”

The foundation aims to alleviate as much stress as it can for the person who needs it.

“I think there’s this misconception when people think about line-of-duty deaths. They think you wake up the next morning and you’re rich. But people don’t know the reality,” Alexis said. “But in reality, the benefits process takes forever. So, we are here just to supplement their income in the interim until they can get the benefits. We are supplementing a salary — direct deposit — for 12 months just to maintain life as normal as possible.”

And when she is called upon, she provides a sympathetic ear and a roadmap to help alleviate some of the anxiety she went through.

“You’re going to need someone to be your brain because you’re not going to remember anything they say. And yeah, walking back through those moments, it’s like going to a memorial service and hearing ‘Taps’ again. It makes you feel like you’re going to vomit. But this doesn’t bother me as bad because I know in those moments, I can relate so much to what (the family members of the fallen) are feeling,” Alexis said. “If I can help (them) not have to live through all the unknowns I had to live through, it’s worth it.”

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Most people only know him as the uniformed man in a picture that made the rounds on social media — the Trooper who died in his patrol car and left behind a young widow and a little girl.

But with every conversation about the Nolan Sanders Foundation, Alexis can show people the man she calls the real Nolan.

The “full-blown clown” who brought joy to every room he walked in.

The loving husband and father.

The person who felt called to serve his community — not just as a Trooper, but also as a volunteer firefighter.

That’s the Nolan she wants Laney to know. “I feel like I have all these pictures and videos and people wrote all these letters just telling their account of who they thought Nolan was and I think she’ll be able to take from that how much he loved people — that he loved us, and he was good,” Alexis said. “I hope some of those things come out in her. That’s the type of person we all want to be — someone who sacrifices and serves others and just loves life.”