Brett and Jake at Skytop Apple Orchard, Hendersonville
Brett D. Johnson • 3/18/72-7/17/09
My brother was killed by a drunk driver 1 year ago today. No small business web resources or anything about websites or entrepreneurship in my blog post today, sorry. But I’d be greatly honored if you read my dedication to him…
This was the year of the firsts. It seems like there was a big first about every 3 months: the first Christmas without Brett, his birthday, Amy and his wedding anniversary. And then there are the small, daily firsts, like “Brett would really love the stars out tonight.” On every first, I was silent and listened until something came to me that brought peace, soothing the confusion and pain.
Of course, the first anniversary of his death upset me the most and I’ve been crying for a month. I now realize God has been sending me quiet embraces—guiding me each time to a heartfelt solution.
Brett and I both loved nature and belonged outside, in the woods.
My favorite memory of us as children is sitting with our feet in the creek under the dogwood tree in our back yard. Filling up buckets of water, building dams with rocks, and catching salamanders under the shade of green leaves. He was a kind and gentle boy who became a kind and thoughtful man—he appreciated all of nature’s gifts.
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- Cooling my feet in a stream today
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- Stones we added to the place dedicated to Brett behind me
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- Thinking about childhood memories
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- Greg at the stones
Today I sent Brett a message in a bottle. Not in the ocean or a river—I placed it in the ground of a majestic place Greg and I love to hike and climb. Greg and I stacked stones on top like people at Mt. Everest do to honor their loved ones who have died. Other climbers (that I had never met) added stones and offered to place more in honor of Brett every time they hike there. Grief is universal.
Since the message is at the base of a granite mountain, Greg says it is now a 250 ft. monument to my brother. That really made me smile…classic Greg thought. In my message to Brett, I included a poem expressing raw sadness at the loss of a love. I guess I just want Brett to know he is missed and always will be so loved.
Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden (1907-1973)
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Will we ever understand why he was killed? I don’t think so. But I do know he was my brother and I love him and that is forever. If you have gone through anything like this, my heart goes out to you, no matter who or where you are. If you drink and drive…stop. A good man has been killed and I lost my only sibling.
After all this has been said, I believe there will be the peace of his presence every time we add a new stone to our special place in the forest.
