“What separates us from the animals, what separates us from the chaos, is our ability to mourn people we’ve never met.”
I had a “Nana” too, I’m a crumbling, beat up 65-year-old man, but I can never think of her without a faint whiff of her perfume wafting in the air, without tasting her special grilled cheese and sliced tomato sandwiches, without feeling the soft sweet kiss on my cheek.
It beats the bejesus out of me to read this email that you sent into B.A.S.S.:
It's a long shot, but I wanted your magazine to do a feature of my 23-year-old grandson that was killed September 26, while cutting trees after Hurricane Irma hit Florida. He was a avid fisherman with a talent on the verge of being discovered. He had graduated college in May and was working until November just to earn enough money to take time off to fish everyday and win the Bassmasters on Lake Kissimmee in February. He touched a power line and was electrocuted. He was not new to the tree cutting business as it was owned by his dad, and he had worked with him summers since he was 13. Please look on his Facebook page under Lane Crosson or his Instagram under therightlane5. A love of fishing like no other. It would be an honor to recognize him. The outpouring at his celebration of life was incredible. We are from a very small town and he had over 1,300 in attendance. He loved life. I know it's a long shot but can you direct me to who might listen? A grieving Nana. Janet Hardy Avon Park, Fl”
It is never a long shot, even though I don’t know your grandson please know this…he was part of our family too.
This fishing community thing we have is an amazing thing, because Lane loved to fish, was looking forward to fishing an Open with us, he knew something he may not have told you, but we are all brothers, we are all sisters, pick up a rod and a reel, throw a line in the water…and you are one of us.
Not a long shot at all “Nana.”
I have looked at his Facebook page, downloaded one of the photos and expanded it some so I could see his eyes.
I know those eyes, they are the eyes of my children. I know those eyes, they are the eyes of all of the young men who stand in line with their fish, cross the stage with their fish, dream of one day being the next KVD, Skeet, Ike or many others.
Not a long shot at all “Nana,” for we grieve too in the loss of what may have been, what Lane would have brought to us, what we could have learned from Lane.
And while Lane may never have crossed our stage, with this letter to you please know that those who follow us will now know of Lane and his dreams and will mourn with you as well.
As I do.
I believe that as long as a person is remembered they will live in the hearts of those who loved them, those who knew them, those who wished they did.
Lane Crosson was simply one of us, in my heart I think he knew that, I think that he knew of the family called…anglers.
I hope that one day when we come to Florida you will come to our event, meet our people, meet our fans, tell us some funny Lane stories, and “Nana” I extend to you this, as with Lane, you are a part of our family as well…Welcome.
Love surrounds us all but maybe none stronger than the love of a “Nana” for her grandchildren.
I know that because all the time that I wrote this to you I smelled a special perfume, had the slight taste of a grilled cheese with sliced tomatoes, and felt a tiny, soft kiss on my cheek…
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”