by Toni Anne

Created on: March 06, 2009   Last Updated: March 16, 2009

When it comes to loosing a friend, whether closely connected or not, it has a way of pausing your thoughts for a moment in time. You begin to recall what you knew about them. You start to feel sad for their families. Your mind plays the record of youth over and over in your head. However death approaches you, loosing a friend can have an impact far beyond what the exterior reveals.

Brad was one of those type of people you meet and instantly know you found someone special. He was warm, kind, easy to talk to, open minded, and very down to earth. There was nothing fake about him. Brad and I knew each other from a local hang out, called Harry's, which is a typical neighborhood bar. We use to shoot pool together, share stories about our kids, and buy each other drinks when we each needed a lift from a hard day at work. Incidentally, we had some similar things in common. We both had a son named Nicholas. He worked for the government as a contractor, I worked for the government as a naval reservist.

Brad was also an ex-Marine, except it's an understood concept among military personnel once a Marine, always a Marine. He was proud of his service and we'd share stories of our military experiences. Brad also belonged to the order of brotherhoods, the Masons. Although he could not talk about it openly, I knew the importance of that fellowship. Above all else, there wasn't a time we'd see one another that a hug wasn't given. It was a warm, welcoming hug. One you give or receive when you genuinely care about someone.

One thing is certain about Harry's, though. People may have their individual cliques but if one of us is in need or hurt, we care enough that we'll pitch in to help. Word spread fast about Brad and I was on my way in to Harry's for a night of pool when I got the news.

Brad had been laid off from his contractors job on the navy base. He then started working with his brother, Kyle, who owned a landscaping company. At the crack of dawn, both of them were up and on their way to shape, mold, and rekindle the yards that had been haggard by the icy winter.

What happened that day can only be described as horrific. For Kyle, watching his brother die in his arms, not able to do anything to save him, had to be a living nightmare. Apparently, Brad was allergic to fire ants, which no one knew. When he was reaching into some bushes to clear out the old mulch, his glove covered hand brushed against an ant hill. One tiny little creature managed to find its way inside his glove and

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