Just A Thought

Loss is simply the profound cost we pay for love. The deeper the connection and the more genuine the care, the heavier that eventual loss feels. Queen Elizabeth stated, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

I was invited to interview the wives and daughters of Brian Stuart Ramsey, 69, and Keith Warren Ramsey, 65. We, unbeknownst to me, have a friend in common. She reached out to me, because she thought it would be good for the family if people knew who the brothers were before they became headline news. I agreed. They agreed.

We, Liz, Bekah, Emma, Trish and I, sat down at a kitchen table on Friday evening. Our meeting lasted almost three hours. They shared their pain with me. I shared mine with them. We cried together. They shared joyful moments with me. I shared mine with them. We laughed together. It was bonding, it was freeing, and it was wonderful, despite the tragedy behind how we met.

Emma questioned if this meeting would have happened if not for the plane crash that took their lives. I told her that I believed it would. At some point, someone would have called and said, “There’s a couple of brothers with their own plane and a private landing strip in Viola. It might make an interesting story.” I would have agreed and reached out.

I learned that Keith thought of Liz as the sister he never had. I learned that Brian had the biggest heart. He would do anything for Liz. I learned that Keith was a problem solver; he wanted to fix everything. I learned that Keith would have given Trish the world, if he could. He supported her in every endeavor. I learned that Emma and Bekah loved their mothers, but they were daddy’s girls. I learned that both Brian and Keith planned for retirement and thought they would live forever.

I left that meeting with silent desires that I couldn’t speak out loud: I wish Keith and Brian had gotten the chance to enjoy the retirement that they spent their lives earning. I wish they had gotten to meet their grandchildren. I wish Brian had gotten to see Emma graduate college this year and walk her down the aisle, when she gets to that moment in her life. Most importantly, I wished I had the power to take away this family’s pain.

What you learn after a tragedy that takes someone so dear to your heart is all the first year’s firsts. All the first birthdays in the family, the first Christmas, the first Thanksgiving, the first New Year. Each of those firsts brings the pain back to the surface because they should be there, but they are not. After that first year, time will begin to ease the pain. Getting to that point is amazingly difficult.

While our mutual friend used the word “closure” in arranging this meeting, we five agreed that closure is unattainable. It’s a fantasy. Reality is you have to learn to live with the pain and let time slowly heal you. We did agree that those three hours together were healing.

I’d like to express my deepest appreciation to those ladies for sharing that time with me, as well as my sincere, heartfelt sorrow for their loss. After getting to know them, I’m certain that, under different circumstances, we would have become friends.

Trish stated of their husbands, “We are better for having them in our lives.” Well, my Warren County family, I’m better for knowing these people and hearing their stories. Those three hours will forever be precious to me, and I will always be grateful for the opportunity to share their stories with the community.