Daryl Bauer, Fisheries Outreach Program Manager
I blog about Nebraska’s outdoors, hunting, fishing and trapping pretty much all the time. Family always has been a huge part of my time outdoors and part of many of the stories I tell. So, yes, my blogging at times shares things that are very personal to me. Today will be one of those times. Continue reading if you wish. . .
Life is good.
It can also be hard sometimes.
Experienced that this spring with the passing of my brother-in-law. Tom was diagnosed with ALS. His condition progressed rapidly and he passed this spring.
They say everyone grieves in different ways. I know one of the best ways is to remember and share those memories with others. Oftentimes I have done that by writing. It is good to put my thoughts on paper. I suppose if others like reading those words as well, that is good too.
I have known my brother-in-law for a long time, long before marriages made us in-laws (we married sisters). Over the years Tom was my youth leader and Sunday school teacher, employer, teammate, and much more. A lot of memories come to mind.
During my high school summers, I worked on Tom’s family farm/ranch operation south of town. Did all the usual jobs one would expect working on a farm/ranch during the summer. Was probably best suited to driving a tractor on summer-fallow fields or raking hay.
Once in a while, there were days when horses would be saddled and Tom, Dave (another of Tom’s brothers-in-law) and I would head out into the canyons. Horsemanship can be found in my Bauer blood, but it skipped me. Ever since the ill-fated Christmas when my sister and I were gifted a Satanic Shetland pony I have hated horses. Why Tom and Dave ever put me on a horse, even the best, gentlest horse they had, I will never know. I would cautiously, carefully plod along while the guys trotted off to the far reaches to complete whatever task they had to accomplish. I would meet them on their way back.
Lunches working for Tom were five-star and filling. Tom’s mom made a hot meal for us most days. They were everything you would expect from a farm wife and mother. Often Marge would make Tom’s favorite pie — coconut cream. I do not like coconuts, not one bit. However, wanting to be a grateful guest and employee, I smiled and ate a slice of coconut cream pie every time it was offered. Definitely have not eaten another one since.
At the time we played slow-pitch softball together. We probably spent far more time than our lunch “hour” hitting ground balls for each other. The grounders were wicked on the gravel and ruts of the farmhouse driveway. As I recall, we anchored our middle infield and had a lot of fun at those games; even won a fair share.
The first date with my wife-to-be was a double-date with Tom and his wife, my wife’s sister. Yes, there might have been a bit of matchmaking going on there. We went to a rodeo and of course a thunderstorm rolled in and soaked us. I think it rained so much the puddles were deeper than the top of my cowboy boots.
As we gathered with family to remember Tom I was struck by his kids and grandkids mentioning that he always took an interest in whatever it was in which they were interested. I smiled. I experienced that as well over the years.
Tom was not a big outdoorsman, hunter or angler. To my knowledge he rarely hunted deer, but strolling over a ridge one time he managed to take a trophy mule deer. His non-typical, firearm buck is ranked #63 in the state.
We spent time together chasing pheasants and calling coyotes. He even went fishing with me a time or three. I will be surprised if he did not catch some really nice fish when we did that. Set him up with waders and instructions to fish an interstate lake one evening. He started casting as I got my gear ready. Right away he hollered that he had a fish. I went down to help him land it — a largemouth bass in excess of 21 inches!
We were back home the weekend Tom passed. His wife was with him early morning when he was restless. He asked, “what day it was?” Tanda told him. We believe he knew that was the day he wanted to go home. With family present, he passed that afternoon, Easter Sunday.
He is risen.
One of the last times I left his hospital room before he passed, I told him what I often say when parting ways with family and friends.
“I will see you later.”