The Marlboro Man, is crying.
Edwin Evers, is the Marlboro Man, a stoic character sans the cigarette smoke. A cowboy above the dust, chiseled face and beliefs, God fearing, a Marine without the uniform or tours of duty.
And he is crying.
“db, it was the worst day of my life.”
This past Saturday was supposed to be a pretty good day for Edwin, it was a day he was going to take a wounded warrior fishing, the 4th wounded warrior this year that he’s done so with…
“…I…I…you know…uh…wow…”
…this past Saturday it was Brian Eisch’s turn to fish with Edwin. Brian is a friend of mine, he was my Thanksgiving Story last year and on the way to the Elite event on the St. Lawrence River Edwin stopped to pick him up for a day on the lake…
“…wow…db it was…um…uh…..Brian…he told me…um…you know….he told…told me that he had to be on that boat, had to be on the water, had to be anywhere but you know….know…kn…”
…Brian couldn’t be home this past Saturday, needed to be anywhere but, home…
“…he told me…told…said…told…he couldn’t walk by the coffee table…that was, was…Joey’s…couldn’t walk by his room…Joey’s….room…you know…couldn’t…couldn’t…”
And sitting on the couch across from me, Edwin goes silent.
Jason Christie, sitting on a chair near me, goes silent.
I put the notepad down, the pen down, and now the room is silent.
Until, “…db…I have a son…he’s 6 years old…db…it was the worst day of my life when Brian stepped on my boat and told me that his 11 year old son, Joey…Joey was run over and killed by a truck just the day before.”
And with that, the Marlboro Man within every dad, cries.
Sorrow, is the price we pay, to Love.
If one of my children is killed, if one of my children die before me, there will be no more me from that moment on. I will hit the launch button and do what ever it takes to never face reality again in my life.
Like that or not, it is the truth.
Later on Saturday Edwin and Brian came back to the dock and picked up Brian’s wife and other children, and went back out on the water, water the cushion of life, the mother of all life, waves of comfort, “…all I could do was hug them…we cried…we talked about Joey…hugged more…talked more…I think, think that Brian HAD to be out there at that moment in his life, JUST HAD TO BE THERE.”
Down some from the launch here in Waddington, NY there is a gravel pull-off on the road and it is where I sit now in my truck.
Edwin came off the water about 8:45PM, we talked for a while, it is now 9:30PM and I’m sitting alone in the pull-off staring out the windshield at the dark St. Lawrence River and the bright stars above.
Moonlight traces the gentle wave tops.
I have asked God to once again walk across water and come sit in this truck cab with me.
Explain himself.
Explain love to me, explain sorrow to me, explain why 11 year old boys are run over by trucks.
Send me Jesus, send me Satan, send me whatever you got, we need to talk.
Somewhere in a .jpeg file there is a selfie of Joey and me…send anyone, we got to talk.
Somewhere on one of my black Bassmaster shirts, right around the belly line there are faint traces of a Joey hug still clinging there…send anyone, we got to talk.
Lay to rest, not the children.
Take me first.
Send anyone, we got to talk.
Dear Joey
You are home.
Our real home, not one of skin and bones, wood and nails, but the home where magic lives, where there are no roads to cross, trucks to dodge.
We, we people, young and old, we are not the face you see in the mirror, the body you dress in the morning, we, young and old, we are that tiny voice that talks inside your head.
Joey, that voice you have heard all your life talking up in your noggin, that, is your spirit talking, that is the God within.
And your spirit is alive and well in all of us down here who you have met.
Joey, it is not about the bodies we are in, but the spirit we have in those bodies.
Good spirits, are eternal, Joey, you are forever.
Love wins Joey, love wins.
Joey, not one ounce of your spirit, your love, has left this Earth, have left your parent’s hearts. Not one ounce.
Goodness, love, Joey, is the hand that guides us, and your hands now cradle us all.
In times of trouble I will look for your knuckle bump.
In times of trouble we will need your hugs.
In times of trouble, you will be there for us.
It is the most pure, the most loving of us, sent to show us what magic looks like, sent to show us what is possible, sent to show us God lives within.
Love you man.
Knuckle bumps last forever.
Someone, I guess, did come to talk.
db
To help Joey’s family with funeral and medical expenses you can go here to make a donation: http://www.gofundme.com/4v7fadmq5w