by Debbie Little

“Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear

Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?”

I usually don’t have trouble coming up with a lead for my column.

But this one was different.

You see, it’s been a year since Dave Brower died and I really needed to write about him this week.

The lyrics to a song kept coming to me, but I just wasn’t sure.

Finally, I looked up at the ceiling and asked Brower for a little help with this lead and to give me a sign if I was on the right track.

I started listening to the aforementioned song “Seasons of Love” from Rent on my laptop and The Diva — Brower’s cat — who had been asleep, woke up, jumped up on my recliner and rubbed on my laptop. We’ve had her for almost a year and that had never happened before, so that was good enough for me.

Without getting too deeply into all the themes of the musical, at its core, in simplest terms, it’s about friends and loss.

And that’s what this column is about, too. In particular, it’s about how four close friends of Brower’s — me, my husband Dave, Gabe Prewitt and Kelly Young — are dealing with his loss.

We were all friends prior to Brower’s passing, but since Friday, Oct. 7, 2022, we share an unbreakable bond.

We never really talked about the events of that day until last week.

Without going too deeply into all of the details, because so much of it is still a blur, Prewitt had the unenviable task of letting us know something had happened to our dear friend Brower, and that he needed contact info for his immediate family.

My husband remembers hearing fear in Prewitt’s voice and I remember that his voice was unrecognizable.

Perhaps the only thing I really remember from that call – other than the sound of Prewitt’s voice – was the word “unresponsive.” That was how Prewitt described Brower’s condition.

Prewitt doesn’t remember who said that word to him, but it gave us and him hope.

Shortly thereafter, we found out the truth, that Brower was gone.

Poor Prewitt had to call the Red Mile races — if you heard his race calls that day, you understand what I mentioned earlier about his voice — my husband had to write an obituary to send out for The Meadowlands, and I needed to call Young to get the contact info for Brower’s family.

I remember not wanting to make that call. She didn’t answer, so I texted her to call me ASAP.

She was out at lunch with her daughter, but she called me right back.

Neither of us can remember what was said, but she got the contact info to Prewitt so that they could break the horrible news to Brower’s family.

But ours is not just a story of loss. Brower didn’t go without leaving us some gifts.

Brower had a warm, welcoming way about him that made everyone feel like they were his friend. Following his passing, people who were close became even closer and people that didn’t know each other became friends. That was his gift to us.

He also gave us his sister, Laura, who my husband and I met for the first time while cleaning out Brower’s apartment a couple of days after his passing.

Many people have now met Laura since she has immersed herself into her brother’s world by attending races at The Meadowlands, Goshen Historic Track, Jug week in Delaware, Ohio and this weekend at Red Mile.

He gave my husband and I a very personal gift, The Diva, a living, breathing, meowing, daily reminder of our loss. I like to think that she reminds us of the good times even when she’s waking us up at 4:40 in the morning because she’s lonely.

They say there are five stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance — since everyone processes loss differently, they may not be applicable to all, but I’m pretty sure the four of us have at least briefly experienced all of them, except for the last one; acceptance. I don’t believe any of us are there yet, because we still don’t want to accept that this really happened. I think we’d all like to wake up and find out it was just a bad dream.

Tomorrow — the anniversary of Brower’s passing — Young, my husband and I will have dinner at Steve’s Sizzling Steaks, one of Brower’s local favorites near The Big M. Prewitt and Laura can’t join us, because they’ll be in Lexington, but that’s okay because they’ll be having dinner together at one of Brower’s favorite spots, too.

As many of you know, Brower loved music. What many of you may not know is that Young was the one who introduced Brower to Lexington’s Red Mile, and in 2002, Brower took Young to her first, and, I believe, only, Bruce Springsteen concert at Rupp Arena.

I saw Springsteen at MetLife Stadium a little over a month ago and he talked about the death of a close friend as part of the intro to the song “Last Man Standing.”

He said: “Death gives you pause to think. It’s like you are standing on the railroad tracks with the white-hot light of an oncoming train bearing down on you. It brings a certain clarity of thought you may not have previously experienced. But death’s final and lasting gift to the living is an expanded vision of life. A greater vision of your life and its possibilities. And how it’s important to seize the day and live every moment like it’s your last.”

After singing the last verse of the song “Backstreets,” “Where we swore forever friends / On the backstreets until the end,” he talked, in part, about having some of his friend’s possessions as well as a photograph of the two of them. Then he said:

“And the rest of you, I’m going to carry right here [tapping his hand over his heart], right here, right here until the end.”