Nostalgic…

I was up early this morning, it was five-something so…very early for me. I took a look at my iPad and saw a post from my friend Brooks’ daughter, Lily. The post began:
It has been one year since I lost my best friend and parent…a lot has happened since you left this world.

Call me nostalgic if you must…but the post reminded me that I have a one-year-old text message on my cell phone that reads:

I’m here early.

One year ago today, I made the twenty-minute drive west to Brooks’ house to pick him up and take him to a doctor’s appointment in Dallas. Brooks was ill…very ill.
I knew, as I suspect that most people would instinctively know, that there is always the chance when stopping to pick up a patient that issues might arise.

As I neared Brooks’ home, traffic was stopped and I sent that quick text to my friend,

I’m here early.

I pulled into his driveway and hopped out of my truck. One of my turn signals was not operating correctly and I raised the hood of my truck to check the connection…a two-minute process. As I lowered the hood, it occurred to me that I hadn’t felt a vibration from a returned text message. I checked my phone.

My three-word message was the last entry.

Things looked eerily quiet at his home as I made my way up the walk and a terrible sense of dread swept over me. I won’t go into details but the realization that it was time to be an adult and face a grim reality was upon me before I opened the door.

The next hour was chaotic as this deaf man maneuvered the 911 call and some interactions with questioning Sheriff’s Deputies.

I will admit that I originally saved that text because it helped me establish a timeline with the Sheriff’s Dept. But after a few days when they had asked me specifics about why I was there and what time I arrived, I became nostalgic and did not delete the text.

This morning, one year later it was still on my phone and seeing it took me back more than fifty years.

Brooks and I attended elementary school together. I recall him playing Little League on an undefeated Eagles squad from Westcliff Elementary. Brooks was quick as lightning and could bunt much better than typical kids our age. Once, I remember him placing a well-timed bunt and flying all the way to third base before the dust settled.

I recall him attending my birthday party in 1972 during the first year that the Texas Rangers were in Texas. The Rangers played at the old Turnpike Stadium that night and Dizzy Dean threw out the first pitch.

In high school, he once taught me that his was the fastest car around and also taught me to not ride with him anymore (all during the same encounter).

After college graduation, he played in my annual golf tournament for more than thirty years.

Recently, he and I gathered some friends and (under his direction) built a wheel-chair ramp for a high school classmate that was mobility impaired.

After more than fifty years of friendship. I readily admit to being nostalgic…

This morning before sunrise, I read a beautiful tribute to a father that had prepared a young woman to sell a house, file taxes on her own, deal with attorneys to settle probate, and to purchase her first home.

Lily spoke of the gift of independence based on the support of her loving father.

Her story of a man taken from us too soon made me think of that text again.

I believe that on January 18, 2022, my friend Brooks actually heard those words as an invitation when he made his way to heaven.

Brooks, I am here early…

So, to you, my brother, thank you for more than fifty years of friendship! And as you likely already know, this morning I re-read that text, I wrote the words on my heart, and I removed the nostalgic message.

Rest easy my friend!

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,
KBM
Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com