Hardship: noun – 1) Something hard to endure. 2) Something that causes or entails suffering. 3) State of misfortune or affliction.
This post will be difficult for my family to read.
It’s been 6 months to the day that my brother Lee died. I don’t think I’ve properly grieved his death. In fact, I know I haven’t. Part of the reason behind this post is to help me do just that (hopefully). I vividly recall the day it happened.
Lee had been battling internal illnesses for years. From time to time he would casually express his concern that his illness would stop his life. Doctors would diagnose, misdiagnose, and rediagnose him again and again. He had prescription bottles all over the house, rolling on the floorboard of his car(s), and in his gym bag. He had spent every hour of sick leave being legitimately sick. Once he was diagnosed with fatty liver disease, among other things, the doctor told him to start exercising and eating healthy or face the possibility of it ending his life. He immediately took action. He joined a gym and hired a personal trainer and began working out every day of the week with few exceptions. He asked me for advice regarding bike workouts and running. It evolved into inquiries about local running and adventure races. It came as a complete surprise to me when he told me that he signed up for the Longview Half Marathon! I was overflowing with pride. My brother, who hated running, wanted me to run a ½ marathon with him! Of course through his generosity he signed me up, knowing I would do it with him. It was one of my most memorable experiences with him. We ran the whole thing together in those lime green shirts. At the end, we finished right beside each other and walked around like buddies, eating bananas and gulping water. He injured his knee during the run. I knew it was painful for him because he doesn’t ever complain about pain. He would twist his cheek and drop a few inches on one side when he hit a bad step, letting out a ‘Ooh shh…’ But he finished like a warrior. His knee bothered him everyday thereafter.
Though injured, he insisted on doing an event I told him about a few weeks earlier. The Tough Mudder is an endurance event designed by the British military. It’s essentially a 12-mile run with gnarly obstacles every mile or so, designed with the intention of crushing spirits and building them back up with camaraderie and teamwork. He was sold on the idea immediately upon my description over the phone (I was sitting in my Austin 5-plex apartment as I talked about it and he in his house’s den, most likely in that swivel chair in front of the computer/tv screen watching the world’s most crazy stuff tv show and browsing craigslist). I was telling him that I wanted to do the one in Austin, but that it would be in October and wouldn’t be able to because I’d most likely be on The World Race. He was bummed about it, but it obviously didn’t deter him because the next day he signed up for the Mudder in “Dallas” and called me to tell me I need to sign up under his team, The Barnett-Jackson Brothers. Our older brother, Johnny, had been prompted to do the same. And so we did. The date was set for Saturday, March 31. It was rare that us brothers were in the same place at the same time; Christmas and Thanksgiving maybe. But because of Lee, we were locked into having one of the best times of our lives, together. And that’s what he exceled at; bringing unity and laughter to people, whether he realized it or not.
My relationship with my brother had only gotten better with each day. Of course as children we would bicker and argue and fight about the silliest things. He was a punk sometimes, picking on me in front of his friends or pushing me around. But he never punched me or did anything that would cause big harm. Me on the other hand, I did hit him in the face once. That’s the only time I’ve ever hit anyone. I’m not going to make a vow that I’ll never punch anybody because I don’t know that I could keep it, but as awful as I feel about that one time, I don’t think I could. After we were both out of college, and not constantly bothering each other with our own peculiarities, our relationship became more refined. After I moved to Austin was when we became best buds. He was the person I’d call when I had something stupid to say that I thought was funny and I knew anyone else would think me silly if I called them to say such a thing, and then the conversation would be over, “That’s all. See ya.” I would call him anytime my Volvo (or any other car) malfunctioned, and he would diagnose it over the phone. Not only would he diagnose it, but he would offer to drive all the way to Austin from Tyler (4.5 hours) just to bring me a car and work on mine. When I sold the Chevelle, he drove the truck 3.5 hours to the buyer’s house to meet me. He rolled his Harley out of the back of the ½ ton, left me with the truck, and turned right back home on his motorcycle. That’s the sort of guy he was. Those are the sort of things he did routinely not just for me, but for all of his friends. Heck, he even went out of his way for strangers and people he didn’t really care for. Lee was the ultimate brother. He could teach anybody anything.
But to get back to the story, we all met up at a hotel he booked near Wortham TX where the Tough Mudder was taking place. We went out to a Chinese place for dinner and had all sorts of conversation until we went to sleep in our little hotel room. The next morning, we took the Volvo out to the TM property. We took pictures along the way, each of us proud that we were on our little team of brothers. They marked numbers on our bodies in permanent marker as we entered the gate. After we picked up our packets, Lee made sure to call his wife and our parents to express his love and excitement. I still envy his genuineness. As they called our group to the starting line, we made way to the fence, climbed over the giant wooden wall, and kneeled in the dirt until the race began.
Lee had a knee brace on for most of the race as his knee still bothered him with much pain. He didn’t complain about it one single time. The only mention he made of it was “I wonder if they’ll get mad if I take off this brace and leave it at an aid station.” He ran all 12 miles with us. We passed several groups, got passed by several groups. We helped lots of people to, through, over, and under obstacles. We slopped through mud knee high, slid down muddy hills, dove through a dumpster full of icy water, climbed several 10-12 foot walls, made a human ladder up a slick curved plastic wall, jumped off of a ledge about 20 feet over water, got shocked by electric wire strung 15” over mud, and so much more. We did it all, together. At the finish line Dos XX was handing out free beer. Lee always enjoyed drinking, but showed his strength and determination against doing so in order to help his liver. We did eat all the free snacks though.
Afterwards we went back to the hotel and washed our clothes with the water hose and got showered. Johnny turned back to Fort Worth and Lee and I stayed back at the hotel for another night. We went out to eat again and watched a little TV and talked about random things and went to sleep early because we were so tired. The next day was Sunday. I drove back to Austin to make it to church and get ready for the work week, and Lee drove back to Tyler to rest up before work as well. The next morning I actually called in sick because the Mudder just took my energy. Lee had no sick days left, so he proceeded as usual in spite of all the discomforts he was experiencing.
After I called into the office, I went into my spare bedroom to read. My phone rang soon after, but I have developed a bad habit of not answering the phone unless I’m up for a conversation, so I didn’t even check it. It rings again soon after. I pick it up and see that two voice messages have been left from my sister’s phone number. The first is my sister, Melissa, telling me that I need to return the call as soon as I can. The next is her husband, Mike, saying the same, and that I should come home immediately. My heart panicked and I felt a tingle approach my face. I called right back and Mike answered. He maintained his composure enough to briskly tell me that Lee was in a bad wreck and that mom and dad need me to come home immediately. Without question I said okay and was in my car in less than 3 minutes. The next few hours were the strangest of my life. I didn’t hear from my mom or dad yet. I just sat there in my wagon, driving exactly the speed limit with a blank look on my face, going back and forth between conversing with God and saying & hearing nothing. I honestly expected everything to be okay. I knew something was serious, but not that serious, right? It wasn’t until after I drove through Waco, 2 hours later, that my father was able to call me. When I answered, he just said my name, and then it got quiet. Suddenly the globe stopped. Clocks stopped ticking . I knew what had happened. With a lump in my throat and tears at the floodgates, I slowed down to pull over. My hands starting shaking and I couldn’t see clearly. It was a short conversation with only a few words. What more can one say? Nothing.
I began speeding at this point. I must have cried NO a thousand times over the next two hours. Once I made it home, I pulled into the driveway to see several unfamiliar cars and other family members already there. My dad walked over to my car and I stopped the engine. We didn’t need words. We don’t hug very often, but we met each other with an embrace, almost as to release tears behind each other’s backs before being face to face again. He told me to go inside and see my mother. Even though people were everywhere, it was like walking in an empty hallway or tunnel. Everything else drowns out into a distant echo. The world doesn’t matter. And there’s my mom. Sitting in that kitchen chair surrounded by other people. With a blank look of death on her face she says, “well son, what now?” Those words have been etched into every corner of my brain. I’m Brian, the kid with all the answers, the kid who knows everything and always has a solution, but this time, I had nothing. No answer. No words. Just crying. She was in shock, and remained in that state for several days, without food and with very few words. No greater strength was exhibited than that of my dad. He took care of way too much, the burden of which lasts longer than anyone can expect.
Visitation was like a dream. Or nightmare, rather. The echoing tunnel effect revisited me as my best friend Adam never left my side. I don’t know what I would have done without him. People poured into the funeral home like ants delivering food to a colony. Flowers were pushing against every wall. Faces I haven’t seen in years arrived, and I had nothing more than a handshake to offer. People cried with me as they walked by in single file. A poster of my brother kneeling beside the old Fordson Dexta tractor he restored sat on a tripod surrounded by flowers. It was as if no time passed by between then and the funeral. I can’t recall anything else happening. The funeral was short, and burial was across the street. I always wondered what the worst feeling in the world would be like. That was it. The death of my brother Lee was the worst event of my life.
I’ve only been to the grave one time since then. I rode the Harley there, with my fiancé Michelle. I expect to make that my first stop when I return after the World Race. I can’t even process the thought that my brother Lee won’t see me get married. He won’t be uncle to my kids. I can’t call him anymore with stupid comments or questions about cars. He can’t read my blog. I can’t Vox or Tango message him while I’m in other countries. It took several weeks for me to realize he wouldn’t answer the phone if I called him. The best human I ever met was my brother, and now he’s not here.
So this is hardship. 6 months doesn’t make it any easier.
