Nothing Else Matters

As I sit here, reflecting on the last few days, listening to “Charleston Girl” and drinking bourbon, because that somehow makes me feel closer to you, I just want to say, YOU STUPID PRICK…WHY COULD YOU NOT JUST GO TO THE DAMN DOCTOR?! I am so, so angry with you, and it is eating me alive. For days I have cried until my eyes ache. With all the loss I suffered and then you so unexpectedly, my heart is shattered into a million little pieces. I have asked so many questions that only you can answer. I have wondered why you felt like you didn’t need to fix these problems? Were you in pain? Did you leave this world thinking something insanely stupid like the thought you used to preach to me, that you had no friends, and that no one loved you? Dude, for a man that thought he wasn’t really loved and didn’t have any friends; you had one hell of a turnout for your memorial.

Not only did you have a huge turnout, people were mourning you. People were sad, and are sad, and hurt, and confused, and just extremely pissed at you for not taking better care of yourself. Poor Megan drove all the way from Florida, broke down, waited 5 hours on a tow truck, and had two flats. It was like something out of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, or just some of your crazy bad luck, trying to make it from Florida to say goodbye to you. And then there was me and Tara. I know you were enjoying the fact that we got lost in Grassy Branch and had to ask poor ole Dexter for directions. Here we are, running late, went the wrong way once, passed it up once, no road sign, freaking out, cussing this road (and you), and I know you were kicked back laughing hysterically somewhere watching and listening to this mess. I know you heard us talking to you. Mostly me, asking for your help, ya know, since this was your final show and all.

God. It sounds so weird to type that.  Your final show. How can this even be real? We’ve been close since we were kids. You were one of the first people I told about my divorce. We had so many random times the last year and a half. Not so much the last few months I know, work got hectic, you did your thing and I did mine. But I thought we had more time. I needed more time. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my brother. The guy who always had my back, no matter what. Who will take your place? No one – absolutely no one.

Although, I keep wondering how you survived as long as you did. Living in a new world every day. Living on hope and faith. Never knowing where you’d be from one minute to the next, or how you’d get there and back, but going anyway. How you’d get out of all these messes that you got in. The Lord and the Universe definitely looked out for you. All those times you weren’t sober enough to drive. All those times you broke down beside the road. All those times you made poor choices but somehow lived to tell the tale. I wish I had your outlook, your zest to live, but especially after this last week I’m left in a pretty dark place. There are so many things I wished I’d told you. So many things I wish we’d have gotten to do. But, I missed the boat. And I’m sorry.

I am so grateful for the time that we did have. We made so many memories the last couple years. The times you came to the lake, when you stole that beer bucket for me at Oasis, the time you randomly called me to come play Bingo with you and Truman – my first and last time playing Bingo. And the time you called me to come to that rock concert at Manchester Music Hall, I got a speeding ticket on the way and then you talked to me mean when I wouldn’t stay in Lex that night but had forgotten by the next morning you were even angry.  All the late night Snapchat conversations. Bitching about life because we were the only two people awake. Reminiscing on the good times. Crying over the bad. I feel so guilty that I didn’t come to you the umpteen other times you asked.

I am so mad at you though. Angry. I don’t want to be, but I am. I’m mad you didn’t take better care of yourself.  I’m mad you never listened to anyone and you had to be so stubborn. I’m mad that you didn’t take the time to go to the doctor and try to hang around until we were old and senile. I needed to be around to hear tales about you playing tricks on the nurses at the old folks home. I needed you to be that guy in his 80s sneaking out of the home to go to a rock concert. You were so young. And then on the other hand, I’m jealous. I’m jealous that you were smart enough to come up with this radio gig and find a way into anything and everything. I’m jealous that you got to see so much and do so much and you found a way around all these responsibilities. But I’m also sad. I’m sad you left behind so many people who loved you. Scott and Monica and Bailey. Charlene and Karen and Brittany and all this family and all these friends.  We loved you, you jackass. And now you’re gone.

Speaking of all the friends. DUDE. Do you know how awkward the high school reunion was at your visitation? I sat there and looked around the room and for a minute I was sitting in the commons area freshman year. It was as if I was transported back in time. Do you remember those days? The days of your frosted tips and Utopia X? The days of playing practical jokes on teachers and laughing for days. I remember thinking I was so cool as a freshman because you were a senior dating Tara and you let me hang around with you all. You were like my big brother then. Always making fun of me, and then giving me a big hug to make it all better. You and those effing hugs. I can’t believe I will never get another one. I wish I had appreciated my youth, and you, more than I did.

Speaking of youth. I say you were young, but you had an old soul. I know that because so do I. You lived one hell of a life in your 35 years. You visited a lot of places, you seen a lot of bands, a lot of Nascar races, you made a lot of friends. When I said I was jealous, I wasn’t lying, but if there’s anything that I took away from your death, it’s how precious life is. We could leave this earth at any moment. Some of us maybe tomorrow. I think some of us are caring a little less these days about life. I know you had demons. I know you sometimes felt like you were alone and no one loved you and as silly as that was, I can understand. I can even relate, sometimes. But you really had no idea how many lives you touched while on this earth. I have grieved for days. Not just for you, but for so many I’ve lost in such a short time. This world isn’t fair and we never understand the plan that God has for our lives, but we’re told to accept it. We’re told to mourn the dead and keep on going for the living. But, that’s easier said than done.

I think the general consensus was, knowing your sense of humor, you were playing this joke on us. I think we all expected you to just pop up out of that casket and be like, “GOTCHA! You motherf***ers ought to know you can’t get rid of me yet.”

But, you didn’t. And you didn’t yesterday, when we all sat there at your graveside service saying our final goodbyes. But I think you would have enjoyed it. I think you were somewhere laughing at everyone trying to pack you up that hill. And I heard after we left you got one awesome send off. The thing is, I know you wouldn’t want us sad, or depressed, or mourning you like we all are. You’d want us to be rocking out somewhere having the time of our lives. But some of us aren’t. Some of us will be grieving for a while. Yesterday, someone said to me, “with great love comes great loss.” Boy, did that hit hard. Because I love a lot of people. I may not be a saint, but I give 150% to everything I do and when I love, I love hard. The hardest. I don’t know how to let go of people. I don’t know how to give up on people. I don’t know how to not be the person that tries to save everyone and be there for everyone and put people before myself. That’s not a brag, but that is me coming to a realization after the last few weeks that I am a good person. Too good for some people, and apparently not good enough for others. I live alone. I have no children. I have nothing that I thought I would have at this point in my life, and if I died tomorrow, I don’t know that I would have anything epic to put on my tombstone. I would have nothing, other than the fact that I loved a lot of people, and lost a lot of people, and I tried to help as many people as I could. I never want anyone to feel the amount of loss and rejection that I have felt in my life over the course of the last 12 years. Or the last 4 months. I think I have lost more in the last 4 months than the last 12 years, but, it doesn’t really matter. It is what it is, as they say. Nothing you can do but move forward, right?

I will never know for sure, but I will always assume that you wanted me to come see you in the hospital a couple weeks ago. I should have. But I was so busy with work, and trying to get ready to leave for California that I didn’t come. And even if you had asked me, I don’t know if it would have changed a thing. That bothers me, too. I have said it before, but I thought I had more time. All of us, we thought we had more time.  We wish we did. And now, it’s too late.

I didn’t intend for this to turn into a thing about regret, but I seem to be collecting a lot of that these days. I know you are in a better place and you aren’t holding any grudges, but I’m disappointed in myself. I wish I had told you what you meant to me when you were here. I wish I had told you a lot of things. I wish I had done more to help you stay a while longer. This still feels like a bad dream. It still feels like some kind of horrible joke. A really not funny one. But, nothing can be done to change it, only to learn from it.

I do take comfort, oddly enough, that you went out in a blaze of glory doing what you loved. That’s all we could hope for you, and for ourselves, to go out in a way that we can appreciate. Everyone grieves differently. I close myself off. I jam the tunes and drink alone. Maybe not the healthiest, but it is how I cope. It’s how you coped sometimes, too. I hope you knew you were loved. I hope you knew what you meant to so many people. We lived vicariously through you. You weren’t the butt of our jokes. Instead, you were the guy we wanted to be the most like. You were the friend we all knew we needed but never understood. You were the best, the absolute best. And this was one of the hardest things I have ever had to write. But, I owed it to you. You will always be my brother. My bingo partner. The guy who had my back since my earliest memories of childhood exist. You loved people so much, and I don’t know if you ever really knew we loved you that much back.  I can hear you singing that stupid line that made you cackle so much, “I don’t know if it’s the wine or the coke, that makes her sound like her jaw is broke…” and your famous line, “THAT’S AWESOME.”

You were awesome. You were loved. And you will be forever missed. If I’m ever blessed enough with kids, I’ll tell them about you. I’ll tell them how you looked out for me. How you guilted me over the stupidest things. How much you loved Metallica and rock concerts. How much you loved, period. And I’m gonna tell them that I was blessed to have known you. And although I know how much you loved the song, “Nothing Else Matters,” you should know that you mattered. Your life mattered. Your whole outlook and the way you loved us and touched our lives, it all mattered.

You never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. Rock on bub, and save me a seat. I’ll see you when I get there. <3

How I Wish...How I Wish You Were Here

I don’t even know where to begin. I guess, maybe the beginning. Circa, February 2008. My first week at Hyden Citizens Bank. Maybe the first day. I was standing in my teller window, when a sucker landed in front of me. And then another hit me on the head. I looked up, and a man was standing on the second floor in the open with a big grin on his face. And so begin the entrance of Ray Brewer into my life.

Tina Caldwell was standing beside me and she said, “That’s Ray. He’s just saying hello.” It wasn’t long before I learned the connection between Ray, and the flamboyant elderly woman who worked down at the end teller window, Betty. Betty was a character. And, she was Ray’s mother in law. Two weeks after I started, Betty had a stroke at work, and she never returned to work. I had only worked with her a couple weeks, but she was full of personality and I had already gotten attached to her.

Betty was from the old school, so to speak. She was full of innuendo and nicknames. When I was headed down to the kitchen to grab a pop she’d holler at me and say, “grab me a diet doctor pecker.” And that was just the tip of the iceberg. She had nicknames for everyone. She started out calling me Blondie, but she decided she didn’t care as much for that, so it went to Dagwood. For all of those who don’t know, it’s from an old cartoon that used to be in the paper, “Dagwood and Blondie.” It sure is funny thinking about something so important from my childhood, like cartoons in the Lexington Herald, being a thing of the past, but, it is.

Anyway, I had gotten so attached to Betty that I would go see her at her home as often as I could. I would take her butterscotch candy because she loved it. Sugar free, of course.  But that was the beginning I think of when Ray adopted me. I don’t even remember when I started calling him Pap, but at some point I started and never stopped. And he was. He was like my dad. Don’t get me wrong, I have the best dad in the world, but Ray was a great second dad. He did all the fatherly things. He gave me advice. He was always there when I needed him. When my vehicle wouldn’t start, when I needed encouragement. When I needed someone to believe in me. When I needed a random gift, and there was no shortage of those.

For over 10 years, Ray Brewer blessed my life. Yesterday, I had to say goodbye, for the last time. I was not prepared, especially since hearing the news the day before that a life long friend had died unexpectedly. I have been mostly numb since, but, the tribute to his life was something spectacular.

Yesterday, Fred Brashear spoke of Ray and described him as best that anyone could have, and as best I would know how. He said the two words that most described Ray were, “Love” and “Servant.” He could not have been more accurate. Ray gave his life to Hyden Citizens Bank, and this community. I have heard more than once how Ray only took one vacation, to Myrtle Beach for just a few days, and he was miserable. But that didn’t mean that Ray didn’t enjoy himself. He loved being here, helping others. He loved seeing people get the things they need, or didn’t need. He really loved giving them things they needed, or didn’t need. Over the years I can’t begin to tell you the things he’s given me. The countless times he was there for me.

In 2011, when I had my first real heartbreak, and I was barely eating enough to stay alive, he came to my teller window one day with a blue bottle, like an old medicine bottle with a cork in it.  He told me there were feel good pills inside it. They were actually peanut butter M&Ms. But it made me smile, and it did make me feel better, if only for a few brief moments.

When I took my CCDW class, I forgot to bring a gun. Yeah…I know. Blonde moments are my specialty. Anyway, I got Ray, and he found me a gun. And I got my concealed carry with his gun. I still have my big poster I shot at. Not my best work, but I’ll always remember that I was able to accomplish that with his help. He also took the photo that I had to send in for the photo on the card. Ray was an every step of the way type of guy.

Not too many years ago, I was in the bank, and at the time I still worked there. Ray was a collector of many things, some he used, some he didn’t. I mentioned wanting a vinyl record player. A couple hours later I was notified that Ray had something for me. Guess what it was – a vinyl record player. If you mentioned to Ray that you liked something, you’d have it very soon. I still have a Cross pen that I haven’t taken out of the box. It’s a $40+ pen. I always thought, what if I lost it? So, it’s still in the box, and that’s where it will stay, because it means that much to me, because Ray gave it to me.

Once when I couldn’t get my car started, and I couldn’t get a hold of dad, Ray was my next call. And he came straight to me. And he fixed my car. And on my way I went.

When I had surgery to have my appendix removed, he offered to drive his humongous RV all the way to Cincinnati to pick me up so that I could lie down on the way home and be more comfortable.

My most favorite memories of Ray, though, were always how I could hear him before I could see him. And I don’t mean he was loud when he talked. Well, he kinda was, I guess, but that’s not what I’m referring to. I mean how he listened to old school Rock n’ Roll – Pink Floyd especially – at deafening levels. Once I rode with him to Louisville to set up the booth for Leslie County for the state fair and we jammed the entire way. I couldn’t really hear for a day or two when we got back, but it was worth the temporary deafness. We always had a love of music in common. He always kept music playing upstairs.

As most people who knew him can attest, he always told you to turn it off and back on in order to fix it. It became this running joke at the bank, and before we called Ray we would unplug it, turn it off and back on, and restart it. Because we knew he was going to say to try those three things first.

Ray loved to cook, and I loved to eat his cooking. Although sometimes he didn’t know when to quit adding ingredients. He had some meat for Relay once, and it was PERFECT. Delicious. But, he kept thinking it would be better. No recipe, just grabbing random stuff out of the cabinets. Random packets of sauce that were in the fridge, saved from just as a random assortment of restaurants. He did that until I could no longer eat it. But for a minute, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.

However, a year or two later he redeemed himself. It was another Relay for Life – this time held on Main Street. It was 4:00 in the morning. Hardly anyone was left, but we had gathered in the lobby of the bank. Ray disappeared downstairs, and a little while later I could smell something that I can only describe as Heaven. He came back with a plateful of Bourbon Maple Bacon. It was probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten. And I will always remember it.

The thing about Ray, is that there are no bad memories. I have no bad memories with Ray. He was Ray. He was my pap. He was my second dad. He loved me, and I may never know how much. I have felt for the longest time that I let him down with my divorce. I know it hurt his heart. But I have decided that even though in my heart I know it was a mistake to be married, I feel like the reason and purpose was so that Ray could be the one to marry me while he was here and alive, so that I could keep my promise to him. I made that promise to him the day I found out he was licensed to do so. Long before I was ever with my ex husband. And the thing is, he performed the most perfect ceremony I have ever witnessed. And I know it was because he loved me so much, he wanted it to be perfect. I am sorry he had to hurt over us not making it, but I will always have fond memories of that day because Ray was there, and he did an amazing job.

There are so many memories with Ray. I could write an entire book on the things and memories that were Ray Brewer. Working on floats for the bank, him talking me into dressing up as the Cookie Monster one year, riding in the back and freezing to death with Tracy dressed as the Gingerbread man, so many Relay for Life nights, so many meals, so many dinners, so much sweet tea or as he called it, Sun tea, which always turned out delicious. He was always with a camera taking pictures when you didn’t want to be photographed. Now, I wish I had taken more.

This has definitely been the hardest week that I have experienced since losing my granny in 2007. Not only did I have to say goodbye to Ray yesterday, but Saturday I learned that a lifelong friend, a close friend, one of the best people I knew, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. At times, I have felt like I’m drowning. I never expected to lose Ray this soon. I thought someday he could be the one to perform my next wedding ceremony (laugh if you must, it’s OK). I thought someday I would be able to share news with him that I would be a mom. I thought someday he and Laine could babysit my future child(ren). And none of those things may happen. But even if they do, Ray won’t be here to see them. That’s what hurts the most, knowing that there are going to be important moments in my life that he will miss out on.

No matter what, now I know for sure that Ray will be my guardian angel. He will be there to guide me, and protect me, and be a voice of reason in my head when I’m not sure. And I know that he will send me signs.

Ray was one of the best men I have ever known. He just happened to be friends with my other second dad, Cabbage Patch. I don’t know what I will do without Ray now. Papa Patch is gonna have to fill a double roll, I guess. Papa Patch is pretty protective over me, so that helps. Two very extraordinary men that I am blessed, and was blessed, to have in my life. I was so afraid I wouldn't make it back home from California in time to say Goodbye. And even though he was in Hospice and he was unresponsive, I know in my heart and soul that he knew I was there. 

Possibly the sweetest thing I have ever heard, was the story that Laine told at the funeral. She said that Ray told her that when she was able to replace the word “Love” in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, that she would be ready to marry him. And she read it with his name, and I felt my heart break even more. She said he was her person. And they were perfect. She has been a tough woman to put up with Ray and all his quirks. But she has never failed to treat me like her own and be my second mama. Laine, if you read this, please know that I love you dearly, and I have nothing but immense appreciation and respect for you – as a woman, as a mother, and as a wife. And you are such an important role model in my life. Thank you for everything you have done for me, and for all the love and devotion you gave to pap.

I know there are so many things I should say, and there are so many things that have already been said. But I am long winded and I tend to go overboard with these things, especially when I pay tribute to someone close to me. But there are too many memories to write. There are too many words that I could use to describe this important man that meant so much to my life, and will always mean so much to my life. He had a vital role in my life, and part of me will always be a little bit lost without him. But I am not alone, everyone that knew him will be a bit lost now. His absence is already being felt. His heart was the size of continents. He gave everything he had to make sure the community stayed afloat – fundraisers, veterans day projects, movies in the park, Halloween, Christmas, Relay for Life – you name it and Ray was a part of it. He was one of the most loved people this community has ever seen. And he chose me as a daughter of the heart. He chose me, to love and care for and encourage and invest in, and I am such a better person because of him.

Pap, I intended to write this as a tribute before you passed. I wanted you to know just how important you were to me, and how much I loved you. I should have told you more. I should have spent more time with you. I just thought I had more time. I didn’t want to accept you were leaving us. But I know you are one of Heaven’s brightest shining angels now, and you know how much you were loved. Thank you for every single thing you did for me – big or small – because every thing meant the world to me. You made me a better person. You added an extra size to my heart. You helped my heart be filled with love and positivity. You pushed me to do better, and be better, and you never gave up on me. You knew I was destined for great things. You loved me, no matter what. And I will love you, forever. Rest in Peace my sweet Pap. You were one of a kind, and you made this world a better place. I hope those of us who knew and loved you can carry on your grace and remind every one of your legacy.

Pink Floyd said it best – “How I wish…How I wish you were here.” And at least for the time being, "I have become...comfortably numb."