As a small child, Jeff Brock was a giant.
He was taller than my dad, and he was taller than any other man I knew.
His slim figure only added to his height.
As a small child, Jeff Brock was a giant—
Not just in stature,
But in wisdom and knowledge.
There seemed to be nothing he did not know.
Woodworking,
Electronics,
Computers (when they were just being developed),
House repair,
World events,
Subjects galore.
I was in awe of him.
I wanted to be just like him—and just like my dad.
When we shopped with the Brocks in the Westshore Mall or in North Carolina malls, we tended to divide up with Mom, Kelly, and Mrs. Brock looking at other stores,
With the guys—my dad and Mr. Brock–followed along by me
Making a beeline for B. Dalton’s and Waldenbooks—yes, both bookstores on the same trip.
I watched Dad and Mr. Brock repair things around the house,
Watched them work in the yard,
And neither of them seemed appalled to allow me to participate, including reshingling the house on Ewell Rd. in the 6th grade.
Just a few years ago, when Mom moved into her condo in Gainesville, there we were again,
Mr. Brock and me at work on Mom’s repair list.
If you didn’t guess already,
The Brocks were a second pair of parents.
I count myself so fortunate. I had two amazing, passionate parents—
and then ended up with another set of bonus parents.
We vacationed together—in Maggie Valley, Lake Junaluska, Boone, and Daytona Beach.
We sliced peaches, made preserves, slid down snowy mountains, fished for trout, and so much more.
Childhood pictures frequently show the Brocks with our family of four.
They were family.
The Brocks attended all of the major events in my life and in Kelly’s—our high school graduations, the births of our children, our marriages, both of the funerals of my parents.
Mr. Brock married Anthony and me in 2009 in a small church service in North Carolina, and he cried with me on the phone when I shared news of Anthony’s unexpected suicide.
He held Kelly’s children and my children as babies,
And he lifted them high onto his shoulders as youngsters, helping them reach the skies.
The Brocks visited Mom in North Carolina and then came to visit her in Gainesville when she moved back to Florida, supporting her and being loving family for the 27 years of her life after Dad died,
(And Mom never hesitated to have a list of repairs waiting for their arrival.)
Having a good parent means having someone who thinks the world of you,
Who loves hearing all your stories,
Who loves celebrating your victories and crying with you over your losses,
Someone who believes you are capable of anything.
To all of my Texas friends, the Brocks are known as my bonus mom and bonus dad because they both did all of these things.
Their deaths have felt like the loss of my parents all over again.
I was a teacher of adolescents, but Mr. Brock was the one who pushed me to teach adults by turning over the Sunday School “podium” to me when he was out of town. Little did either of us know that this was a beginning of a decade of preaching occasionally.
Every time I saw or talked with the Brocks, we laughed and cried.
They loved keeping up with the craziness of the lives of the Lewis girls.
A very personal story I will share with you that happened in 2004 is one that lived in his memory for dozens of years—and will forever live in mine.
I was going through an unexpected divorce.
I was a full-time minister at the time, but the divorce and all the gossip associated with it
Led to many people telling me that I was not worthy—-in fact, telling me those exact words,
Led to many church people refusing to be alone with me,
Led to many people blaming me for everything.
I was lower than I had ever been.
I had lost 25 pounds in a matter of months, and I was only sleeping because of medication.
I was 20 hours away from my family, and I was so, so, so alone.
Mom and I talked every day, but there was no one beside me.
After visiting family, the Brocks took a detour that late summer or fall to meet me beside I-35 in the asphalt parking lot of a Jack in the Box restaurant.
The second they got out of the car, I stood there crying. It was so good to see someone who loved me.
However, a part of me was so sure that I had disappointed them and everyone at home.
A divorce—how could that be?
I remember Mr. Brock stating as he approached me, “I just have to give you a hug. It is so good to see you.”
I replied, “Are you sure you want to? Are you sure you want to be seen hugging me?”
He grabbed me, and the three of us just stood crying and hugging for about 15 minutes.
I am sure I cried most of the time, squeaking words out between sobs.
Their sorrow over my sorrow was palpable.
Their whole-hearted love over broken little me made all the difference.
They loved me no matter what.
They saw the best in me 24/7.
Just this past December I came to Florida for the express purpose of visiting Mr. Brock.
I know all too well how the grief over the loss of a spouse can be overwhelming,
And my goal was just to sit with him and cry and talk, much as he had done for hundreds of others over the years.
We did just that. Both of us sat and laughed, talked, cried, and reminisced.
These two days will forever live in my memory.
When I heard that Mr. Brock, Jeff Brock to most of you, had passed away,
The first words that came to mind were, “A mighty tree has fallen.”
And then the tears fell.
If you don’t know about this, and I didn’t until I heard this recently in an audiobook, the trees in a forest are interconnected through underground fungal networks, humorously referred to as a “wood-wide web.” Apparently, “trees share water and nutrients through the networks, and also use them to communicate. They send distress signals about drought and disease, for example, or insect attacks, and other trees alter their behavior when they receive these messages.” The older trees provide additional tools to protect the younger trees from attack.
“For young saplings in a deeply shaded part of the forest, the network is literally a lifeline. Lacking the sunlight to photosynthesize, they survive because big trees, including their parents, pump sugar into their roots through the network.”
The young trees who may suffer from disease and insect attacks more easily than large trees rely on the large trees for survival. The large trees literally provide food and protection for the young ones.
Jeff Brock was the giant I saw as a child.
And he was a giant not just to me–-but to many.
He was a large, mighty tree, with deep roots,
With a love for people,
With a love for his family and his God.
I think he would love that all I can picture when I think of him is a huge Florida oak tree,
The kind with limbs touching the ground,
With Spanish moss hanging,
With a tire swing attached to a lower branch,
The type of oak tree seen in many places in Bartow.
The type of tree that did not waver over the years, did not fall due to harsh weather, the type of tree that provided life for so many others.
He was a large tree who for years was a minister, feeding those who would be susceptible to dangers, helping them find the lifeflow that comes from faith.
He was a mighty tree for years as a guidance counselor at Bartow High, caring for and nurturing adolescents through one of the more traumatizing times of life.
He was a giant who ministered again at Highland Park, doing all the behind-the scenes ministry that involved one of his gifts—
Seeing people in hurt and sitting beside them.
Crying (yes, giants cry) and laughing.
He sat in hospital waiting rooms, beside hospital beds, and with the retired who were alone in their homes,
Being present in great moments of need.
Many young trees, like me, are who we are today because of this giant,
This man who loved others and gave.
I may have grown older and taller,
And I may have a bit more wisdom under my belt now than I did when I was 5.
However, I was correct about one thing back when I was 5—
Jeff Brock was a giant.
And a giant tree, a mighty tree has fallen.
However, as Maya Angelou wrote in her poem “When Great Trees Fall,”
this act of nature—the falling of this mighty tree–encourages us to focus on what we “can be” and aspire to “be and be better” because he existed.
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period, peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
Maya Angelou. "When Great Trees Fall." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/when-great-trees-fall-by-maya-angelou
Information about the Interconnectedness of Trees: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/the-whispering-trees-180968084/
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