Remembering My Favorite Cowboy
“Flowers are only flowers because they fall,
But, thankfully, the wind.”
On April 27, 2000 something happened that changed the course of history.
Jonathan E. Gaines was born and the world has not been the same since. My brother was many things, a Christian, a cowboy, a son, a neighbor, a cousin, a friend, a makeshift vet tech, a terrible mechanic- the list goes on! Today is his birthday. He’d be 24. I know he’s up there on somebody’s Heavely horse or tractor. I hope there’s no Michelob in Heaven (alright, maybe 1!)
There's not a day we are not reminded of what was stolen from our family. Our home is full of small reminders of the fights, laughs, and tears that colored my and my brother’s childhoods. Photos of a little snaggle-toothed kid turned handsome high school graduate, with boots in every shot, line the halls and walls. Knicknacks and knives, inventions, and some of what my dear Mommy would call “junk”, still appear throughout the house. All these things had a purpose for Jonathan. He was somewhere between a philosopher and a comedian most days. I didn’t always laugh at his antics but sometimes, his wisdom popped out and it was like some old man was speaking through him. It’s almost like he knew something we didn’t.
A hug or a handshake, some way, he would make sure you knew that Jonathan Gaines saw you and he cared. He never met a stranger. Just like that junk, he never judged a man by what he had (or didn’t) or what he could (or couldn’t) do for him. My brother always saw the best in people, even to his detriment. Those of us who love him knew that he didn’t mind getting down and dirty to get a job done, even if that’s giving someone a ride with flies buzzing behind them.
After his life was cut short due to reckless disregard, people came from miles around to tell us how kind, caring, and loving he was, even when he thought no one was watching. He rarely took payment for his work (to my chagrin) and when he did, it was always something crazy- like his famous goat or Blue, the blue heeler.
That was his weakness though. He took in all the strays he could.
My parents work hard and they raised us to do the same. Say what you will about my brother but he knew how to work and was not afraid to sweat to get a job done. He went to church and gave his life to Christ. He was a camp counselor and one of the most authentic cowboys Arkansas ever produced.
Today, rather than excitedly squeaking his room door open to let him know someone needed him to shoe a horse, help dog some cattle, or even ask him to crack a cold one for his birthday, we gingerly open the door to his room and take 1, 2, 3 deep breaths, wishing we had more than the scent of rawhide and saddle oil to hold on to.
We pass the spot where she walked away and he didn’t each time we leave home. Imagine the toll it takes. To have the way home, a place of warmth and love, be desecrated and turned into a constant reminder of the violent effects of pride and selfishness.
Each day we drive down the road, we are reminded that a piece of our heart is missing.
Some days I wake up and, for a split second, forget that he’s gone and think, "Hm. I wonder what Jonjon is up to today?" Maybe I see some jacked-up truck or old school and I think, “Let me send him this and see what he says”. Maybe it’s a beautiful sunrise that I just have to share with someone - then just as I'm about to dial or press send, reality hits me like a ton of bricks.
There's not enough time for me to describe what an amazing person my brother was. I thank God that he gave us the time he did with him. A bright light snuffed out by a careless wisp.
What do you say to a mother or a father who has lost their child, due to no fault of their own? When they’ve done everything in their power to protect their young Black son from this evil world?
What do you say when the person who did it, walks away injury-free and gets a vacation for a sentence?
Our family suffered an unimaginable loss due to selfish irresponsibility and it was rewarded.
What an unsurprising disappointment.
Today is his birthday, though. My sweet brother would have turned 24 years old! Who knows what he would have been up to?
A chill lingers at the beginning of April unrelated to April Showers. What do you do when a sunny day brings you to tears? What do you do when the rain feels like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside you that’s still wailing and prostrate? How do you keep going when it feels like you’re betraying a memory each time you catch yourself having a good time?
I can only say what I’ve done and that’s feel it.
When I get so mad that I want to scream, I go outside and do it. When we were going through years of pre-trial motions and I wanted to slap her attorney for saying the quiet part out loud on the sidewalk of the courthouse, that "they were just kids and kids make mistakes", I went to my punching bag and tried to beat a hole in it. Today, almost 4 years later, rather than turn away from those whose hearts ache just like mine, I reach out and pull them close. You might fool some people but you won’t last long. The only award for hurting alone is more hurt and more loneliness.
So today, I’ll probably cry.
But, I’m also going to laugh.
I’m going to celebrate my brother’s life and the time I had with him.
I’m going to let the anger come bubbling up.
I’m going to cry again.
I’m going to hug my parents and grandparents.
I’m going to keep loving my brother and
he’s going to stay in my heart and on my mind.
My recommendation for anyone reading this is to call/text/hug those you love right now. You always think you’ll be back. Maybe that’s your intention. But will they be there when you make it?
