Dirty…

When you lose a childhood friend, the empty place in your heart is so hard to describe.

As kids, we ran in and out of each other’s homes.  Years later, we could share memories of not only ourselves, but we also remembered each other’s grandparents.

Like Mr. Robert Earl Boothe-I hoped we ran out of something just so I could ride to the store with your grandfather.  Misty and I would spend the whole time begging him to rev up the truck engine and make us laugh.  And he would oblige us all the way from Smith Hill to Blocton and back.

I loved it when my Aunt Genevieve and your mother Mrs. Carolyn would sit and talk.   I would eavesdrop and hear their memories of childhood.

But now I understand more than ever before how precious their shared memories were of those who have left us. 

You just can’t substitute anything for the priceless gift of a lifelong friendship.

Sure, you can get busy with your life, and just when things are going pretty good- all of that can change in an instant when a car breaks down.

There is no relief that is greater than when you are raising 5 kids and Brian calls you to say, “Come get this truck.”  No money down.  No paperwork. No questions asked.

You just are so thankful.

He doesn’t shame you.  He doesn’t brag to anyone.  There is no Facebook post.  As a matter of fact, he never mentions it.

He trusts you.  And in a world full of skeptical people, that is such an endangered emotion.

I think of young people who are going through hard times, and I want to tell them that life is a contradiction.  The blessing of that blown up motor had me riding places and spending time with my Dad.

And today, sitting here with a broken heart, it also gave me the opportunity to look back and think about friendship and true kindness. 

Like when Brian saw a need, how he took care of it.  And then he smiled.  He joked.  He didn’t pat himself on the back. 

I wish everyone outside of our community could know what it was like to be his friend. 

You could get in a bad spot, and you knew you could call him. 

I am sure his phone rang constantly, but he never acted like he didn’t have time to help you.

I loved going in to pay my bill and seeing several men just sitting around inside the store talking.  Lemley’s Auto made me feel like I had stepped back into the past where life was a little slower.

When I would pay, Brian loved to tell me that it cost about $300 more than I was expecting just to watch me have a heart attack.  He would then laugh and tell me the real price.

I know our little town has tons of these stories.  And I hope in the days ahead, we share them with his family.  I don’t believe they could begin to know all of the little things he did daily to help someone in need.

Some people would see an opportunity and take advantage, but Brian would let you know whether or not those tires can go a little further.

As a community, we are all united in our grief.  Losing our local mechanic has been tough because he gave us simple life lessons along with those repairs.

He showed us that we all have a role to play.  And he played his so well.

When we lose someone like Brian Lemley, we should let the best of him live on in us and for his family.

The best way to honor Brian is by being someone like him who can be trusted. 

And when you have an opportunity to be kind-take it.

Don’t let anyone talk you out of doing good for others.  Enjoy the company of your elders and always show up when a helping hand is needed.

You can work hard and play hard.

You can get the job done and laugh while you are doing it.

But most of all, you can simply just take the time to do the right thing, even if you have to get a little “Dirty”…