As I stood
at the funeral home last night watching hundreds and hundreds of people waiting
hours to pay their last respects, I was simply overwhelmed. His elementary school teachers were
there. His former high school coaches
were there. His childhood best friends
were there. His hunting buddies were
there. His cousins. His co-workers. His aunts and uncles. His parents. His siblings. His wife. His three sons. That’s a lot of people. But that’s not
all. His children’s teachers and coaches
came. His son’s best friends came. People from church came. His wife’s childhood friends came. And all her family came. And her customers came. And then people came who maybe didn’t even
know Brian very well, but they knew his parents. Their co-workers came. Maybe some hadn’t seen or spoken with them in
years, but they came. Everybody came
because in some way, shape, or form, Brian had an impact on their lives. When they heard the news, they just came.
We all have
a Brian story. Here’s mine –
I am 4 years
older than Brian. My family lived on one
side of Ma (our grandmother) and Brian’s family lived on the other. Ma’s house was our childhood playground. We spent our summers playing in her
yard. Brian was a farmer from
birth. I remember him wearing jean and
boots when it was 100 degrees outside. He rarely ever wore shorts, and when he
did, he still had his boots on. I was
the oldest of the cousins that lived on County Line Road and I was the
bossiest. I would want to play something
like grocery store or insurance office, and Brian would never go along with
it. He always wanted to dig in the
dirt. We used to play “Lang’s Sporting
Goods”. Our cousin, Jamey, was Mr. Lang
and I was the Vice President. I would use
the foot pedal on Ma’s sewing machine as my intercom and bark out orders. Lisa and Brian were thick as thieves and
always had to be given the same assignments or they wouldn’t play. Since they hated playing inside, I would give
them “jobs” outside. They were supposed
to pretend they were driving to Decatur to sell uniforms or helmets, but
instead I’d find them pushing tractors around the yard. It was very frustrating, let me tell
you. I was trying to run a business and
they never would cooperate. One summer Ma let
us convert an old cotton wagon into our playhouse. We set up house in there with old furniture
and blankets. She put a tarp on the top
to keep everything dry. I was the mama
and I kept the little kids (Cara, Leah, and Marla), while Lisa and Brian went
out to “work” in the fields.
I remember
one time when me and Lisa and Brian decided to strip down to our underwear and
cover our bodies with mud. It was lots
and lots of fun until my mom found us and freaked out. It’s just mud, right? Yes, that’s true, but when you use well water
and the well is DRY… it’s a problem. Just
to prove I’m not exaggerating…
 |
| Amy, Lisa, and Brian - 1978(ish) |
I tried to
find a picture with all the cousins, but I couldn’t. This one has 11 of the 13
pictured.
 |
| Kurt, Tina, Craig, Leah, Brian, Cara, Marla, Tammy, Amy, Lisa, Keith (not pictured: Alan and Jamey) |
As far back
as I can remember, Brian called me “Ramey Ren”.
Like Amy Lynn, but with the R sound.
I have no idea why. Maybe it came
from Scooby Doo or something– I never really thought about why – but that’s my
last memory. I was coming out of the
store and he was walking in. He gave me
his famous grin and said, “Heyyy Ramey Ren” just like he always did.
I love you,
Brian. I hope they have tractors and dirt in
Heaven.
