a legacy.

Dear Clayton,

It seems like just yesterday you were standing in the driveway with me.  It was a cold, winter day last January and you and I were standing on the hill watching Ian try to maneuver his way around the feeders in the lot below.  He was trying to be the {one man show} that you and he both have down to a science. Here's the thing ... one man shows don't always work ... in fact, they rarely do. I think you knew that, but it's not a habit easy to break.

You looked at me and asked, "I wonder if he needs help?"

I smiled, looked back at you and said, "probably, but watching is a lot more fun."  "Should I find some lawn chairs?" 

You laughed that belly laugh of yours that I can hear in my mind and feel in my heart still today. Thank God for memories and a heart to hold them.

We stood there in the quiet, hearing Ian swear and cuss the mud.  I started feeling sorry for him.  I think you did too, but we still just stood there.  A lesson was being learned.

You are all about lessons being learned in the midst of a challenge.  That is a quality that not everyone has, but it was one you radiated.

The lesson we were watching was one I pray my husband remembers from now until forever.  The lesson that keeping your pride in tact isn't as important as asking for help.  The one that says you've got this --  just as soon as you stop worrying about how it may or may not make you look when you shout {or even whisper} three simple words  "I need help."

When he pulled back in the driveway, and started toward us I got a little anxious, feeling bad we didn't help, but you just stood there smiling.  "All you had to do was ask for help, Ian ... that's it ... ask for help before you kill yourself trying." "We love you enough to help."

.............................................

10 months later and all I can think about is how great you were for Ian - as a friend, as a fellow cattleman, as a husband, as a dad. 
How your wisdom and words, and even occasional shouting frustration taught him so very much. 
I want to write down every bit of everything I remember you saying and doing to help Ian by just being you.
I want the hot summer days of tearing your flatbed trailer apart and the jobs you "gave" to Mason. 
I want the days of welding in the shop. 
I want the cow trucks parked and washed out. 
I want the quiet smiles. 
I want rusty gates and shovels and branding adventures.
I want the gathering days in the mountain pastures. 
I want root beer and chips and your kind eyes that always whispered "thank you."
I want the birthday dinners and beer margaritas. 
I want the look of understanding that you always seemed to have.

I want you back.

We all do.

Your legacy will live on, and I promise that we'll take care of your beautiful Annie, your smiling Jarred, your sweet Justine & caring Julia, and your mama.    I promise.

We will love them the best we can ... from now until forever in the best possible ways.

Missing you and your true-blue friendship that so many of us could count on,

Until we see you again ~

Lindsay & my 3 cattlemen {and so many others that loved you too}