Music 

Austin loved music for as long as I can remember.

 Even as a baby, music seemed to speak to him in a way that was different from most people. By the time he was a toddler, he had already developed opinions about what he liked and what he didn't. One of his earliest favorites was Bob Seger.

 This led to one of the funniest ongoing arguments in our house.  Lee would say, "Bob Seger sucks." Without hesitation, Austin would fire right back: "You suck, Daddy."

     By the time he reached elementary school, music had become more than something he listened to. He could sing the words to just about every song ever written. I was constantly trying to find songs he had never heard before, and somehow he always seemed to know them.

As he got older, his love of music only grew. It wasn't enough to know the lyrics anymore. He wanted to know who wrote the song. What year it was released. Who covered it.

 Which version was the best version. What album it came from. The story behind it.

 He consumed music the way other people consume books.

 No matter what Austin was doing, there was usually music  playing somewhere nearby.

Working in the garage? Music.

Driving around back roads? Music.

 Fishing?  Music.

 Riding trails? Music.

Sitting around doing absolutely nothing? Still music.

 He would pull a chair up in front of the television and spend hours watching old concert videos on YouTube. Some of those concerts happened years before he was even born, but that never mattered to him. He appreciated great music no matter when it was made.

 The only thing bigger than Austin's love of music was his love of singing.  And unfortunately for everyone around him, Austin could not sing.     At all.      Not even a little bit.

That fact never slowed him down. If there was karaoke, Austin was singing.

If there was a microphone, Austin was singing.

If there wasn't a microphone, Austin was probably singing even louder.

He didn't care if he was off-key.  He didn't care if he missed words. He didn't care if people laughed. Actually, he usually laughed right along with them.  There were endless jokes among his friends about not letting Austin control the music and definitely not letting Austin sing.

 The thing was, Austin never cared what anyone thought.

 He had a freedom about him that most people spend their  entire lives searching for.  He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He wasn't trying to be cool.

He wasn't trying to fit in.  He was simply being Austin.

And somehow that made everyone around him love him even more.

Music was also one of the things Austin shared most with his dad. The two of them spent countless hours working on projects, sitting in the building, driving, talking, and listening to music together. Some of my favorite memories involve hearing the two of them singing along to songs while they worked.

 Austin had hundreds of songs that he would tell you were his favorite.  Maybe thousands. But there were a few that truly meant something special.

One of those songs was "Dinosaur" by Hank Williams Jr.

In our family, we always called it the closer song.

The last song of the night.

The last song before heading home.

The last song before shutting everything down.

The end of the ride.

To most people, it was just another Hank Jr. song.

To us, it was an anthem. 

It marked endings.

It marked memories.

It marked moments spent together.

  When I was planning Austin's service, there was one thing I knew with absolute certainty.  No matter what else happened, Austin would be carried out to "Dinosaur."

 As his brother and closest friends carried him from the barn, hundreds of people stood and followed behind. And together, one last time, we sang the closer song with him.

Today, there are songs that still make me smile. Songs that make me laugh. Songs that take me back to campfires, fishing trips, dirt roads, and trail rides.

 There are songs that remind me of Austin singing loudly and proudly while everyone begged him to stop.

And there are songs that can bring tears to my eyes before the first verse is over.  That's the thing about music.

 It has a way of preserving moments.

Long after the night is over.

Long after the campfire burns out.

Long after the ride ends.

The music remains.

And so do the memories.

For those of us who loved Austin, every time one of those songs comes on, it feels a little like he's singing along with us again.