Uncomfortable Holiday Gut Check

Alright. This isn’t going to be a super-formal article, but instead, I genuinely hope to open your eyes and hearts and allow you to learn from my mistakes. I have been pacing back and forth in the kitchen for about three hours now, and I’ve finally found the fortitude to sit down and become somewhat vulnerable. I can’t force this kind of stuff, so even though the sun is about to rise over Lake Sinclair, I have to type this stuff while it’s in my brain. If you want to read about deer-hunting and bass-fishing tips, I get it. But I don’t rightly believe that’s where I’m going with this. We’ll chat about that in more articles throughout the year.

But let’s get down to it and drill to the point of this particular article.

I’m a person with a lot of nervous energy. When I talk on the phone for business… or heck, even with my buddies, I’m pacing all over the house, in the yard with the chickens or who knows where else. I just move around a lot. It drives my wife crazy, and I totally get it. I’m self aware.

It was March 30, 2021, and I had just hopped off the phone with a colleague and I was flat worn out. I’d been pacing around all day and I was finally able to sit down in my office chair. So I sat down, I exhaled, I reclined and tried to relax for the few free minutes I had.

Buzz. Buzz.

My phone was vibrating on the left side of my desk; I think it vibrated four times before I answered it.

My mother-in-law was calling. It was somewhere around lunchtime and she never calls me during work hours; I figured she pocket-dialed me or something. But just in case, I answered the phone. I figured we’d laugh it off, but that was not the case.

When I answered, I heard her sniffle. Well, it was late March in Georgia so maybe the ragweed got to her, right? My brain was trying to rationalize what was happening. She’s one of the toughest folks I’ve ever met. She doesn’t sniffle for just any ol’ reason.

I asked her if she was okay.

“No, baby. Ricky died.”

Now is the point in this article where I’m writing this through blurry eyes. Now is the point where I have a tear running down my right cheek as I peck on this keyboard in the middle of the night, or actually, the early morning. This is rough and uncomfortable. I know it’s a tough read. But you need to hear this.

Ricky was my wife’s uncle. He was supposed to get up early that morning and go check cows with his son. He didn’t make it.

I’d known Ricky for years; long before I met my wife. I reckon that’s just how small towns work, but it’s weird—I knew him for years before I even knew my wife existed. He was a mentor to not only me, but many other young men in the Baldwin County community, and so many people loved him. To hear those four words from my mother-in-law totally swept my feet from beneath me.

My eyes filled with tears. My fingers went numb. My lips started tingling. My throat closed up.

It was an awful feeling I’ll never forget. How in the world do I tell my wife? She was at work having a normal day, and I had to deliver the worst news in the world to her. Do I drive to the other end of the county and tell her when I get there? Should I call her now and break the news similar to quickly ripping off a bandage?

I didn’t know, man. I still question my decision, if I’m honest.

My first call was to my daddy. I was in shambles and I asked him what I should do. We both decided it was best to call my wife halfway there, let her know the situation and meet her in the parking lot when she was ready. I don’t know if that was the “right” thing to do. But heck, who knows? I didn’t know any better, and I was just trying to put her wellbeing in the forefront of my mind. I was a fairly new husband, and what in the world can prepare you for something like that?

Driving to her office, my fingers were tingling on the top of the steering wheel; I’m not sure how many traffic laws I broke during that jaunt across the county, but I can tell you one thing—I didn’t give two rips. I couldn’t get any moisture in my mouth but at the same time, I had to be the tough one. It was a task I was more than willing to accept but this was my rookie moment.

I pulled into the chert-rock gravel parking lot and my poor baby was just beside herself.

I won’t share anything else about this interaction due to privacy. But as time has since passed, I learned a dang-hard lesson.

Ricky was at my in-laws’ house that past weekend. I think they had some sort of a taco night with most of the extended family. We were invited, but guess what? My stupid rear-end went fishing.

Of course, I didn’t know what the next week held. But can you imagine? I went fishing when I could have seen one of my favorite human beings for the last time ever.

I greatly struggle with balancing personal privacy and time with social and family obligations; I always have. And as I write this article and type on this keyboard, I still don’t know the right way to handle things. I feel like I try my best and always mess things up in the process.

Men, especially… many of you understand what I’m talking about. I’d like to think we all have good intentions and we’re trying our very best. It’s a complicated web to weave. But I digress.

I’ve had a hard time getting this out of my head recently. My mind never shuts off and it just keeps going and going. There is a storm in my mind. Screaming and screaming. If I could change it, I would love to. But I can’t.

Ricky was one of my favorite people on Planet Earth, man. And unknowingly, I screwed it all up and missed my chance to see him and spend the day with him one last time. It’s been something like four years, and it’s still like an itch in the back of my brain I cannot scratch. Would that time have made up for the regret I have right now? Probably not, honestly. But ded gummet, maybe it would have. That’s the itch I can’t scratch.

I wanted to share this story for a purpose. I don’t want you to feel bad for me because that’s not how life works; I ain’t no charity case. Sometimes you make the wrong call, and I made the wrong call. I’ll wear it on the chin and deal with it.

But as we get into the holidays, things get hectic. You need to take the “Tour of Georgia” as I jokingly call it to see all branches of the family. Your truck stinks of casseroles and passive-aggressive arguments, and you’re stressed out. I get you and I see you, my brother. But if the deer are moving on your trail cameras in Laurens County, or if the white bass, largemouth and stripers are loaded up in a ditch or river-channel hump on Lake Lanier or Hartwell, chill out. Honestly. Take a deep breath and chill out. You’re going to miss this chaos one day.

Do not. And I want you to read those two words again. Do not miss out on precious family traditions to pursue your outdoor interests. Trust me. If you’re reading this, take a lesson from a dummy like me who has already made the mistake. Don’t be sitting at the kitchen table checking your social media and all of your fancy game camera apps. Enjoy the time with your family and loved ones.

Please. For me. For yourself. For your future self. Be present.

Our outdoor pursuits are like oxygen to our lungs. I totally get that. I don’t want to wear an itchy flannel either and smile for family pictures for 45 minutes until the corners of my mouth cramp after I just ate 40 pounds of turkey. But maybe, just maybe… we might be coming into that stage of life where we can grin and bear it a bit more.

And maybe, just maybe, we can learn to relax and be present when we’d rather be hunting or fishing. I didn’t do that in March of 2021, and I don’t rightly think I’ll ever forgive myself for it. I write these words so you don’t have to live these words.

One day, and I hope it’s hundreds of years away, when you walk into that living room and see those empty, dusty boots with the tops folded to the side with the toe creases imprinted into the weathered leather and realize they’ll never be filled again, you’re going to feel empty. You will wish you climbed out of that deer stand a little earlier or trailered that boat before sunset to go eat some tacos, fried catfish or ribs with somebody you love.

Perhaps this realization is a rite of passage. I don’t know.

I haven’t quite figured it out yet, either. So take my words not as gospel this holiday season, but rather as some friendly advice.

I wish you and your family the most magical holiday season you can imagine. I pray you can hug each other, watch the babies play together, eat some delicious food and remain thankful for your blessings. And if time allows, I hope you can get into the woods and on the water.

Merry Christmas, everyone.