...And Then There Were Two

The death of a parent or sibling is a deeply embedded heartache that never goes away. Time, however, will eventually redirect one’s grief to fond memories; the broken heart is still wounded but no longer seems to bleed as freely. Our gregarious and off-the-wall Mama had three kids – one girl (the oldest being me) and two boys. The three of us were intensely devoted and dedicated to the well being of one another our entire lives. We were, in essence, not only siblings but best friends. Mama and her youngest (and favorite) Jimmy, have left the confines of this old earth and are, as I choose to believe, comfortably ensconced in a far better place.

Mama had a massive stroke when she was 62-years-old which left her paralyzed on her right side and her speech reduced to zero. Thankfully, Pop, our step-father, was generous and affluent enough to provide Mama the best care and rehab available in Dallas, Texas, and after an eight-week stay; Mama came home. She was able to say a few words, tie her shoes with one hand, and shuffle along with a leg brace and a specially designed walking cane.

Pop was quite a bit older than Mama and the most amazing of men. Although well up in years; after Mama’s stroke he had a new house built for them (specially designed to accommodate Mama’s handicapped condition), and hired a lady to come in daily to assist with her personal care and do the housework. He learned to cook by trial and error and became quite a chef. Within a couple of years they were again traveling all over the world to visit friends, family and see new places.

Some of their adventures bordered on the hysterical. Seems Mama decided to ride a camel at one stop and did with a great deal of mounting/dismounting help. Another time, when attempting to get Mama onboard a boat for a whale watching expedition; she was stuffed through one of the vessel’s portholes as they couldn’t board her any other way. Between Mama's strange walking cane, and Pop pushing her in a wheelchair, the pair made a lot of miles and never missed a beat.

Mama was 80 and Pop was over 90 when he suffered some health setbacks, which rendered him unable to meet his own or Mama’s needs, so he checked them both into a nursing home on a supposedly temporary basis. The great, old gentleman passed away there and I took Mama back to her house and moved in with her. On a Saturday night, less than six months after Pop’s death, I received a phone call telling me our little brother, Jimmy, had passed away in Dallas. He had choked to death on a piece of steak.

At that particular time I had Mama temporarily back in the nursing home to treat an ongoing lung problem. The next day I had both a nurse and a doctor in attendance when I told Mama her youngest and favorite child was dead. Although devastated; she sustained admirably.

Jimmy was Mama’s baby and by any standards, brilliant. He went into sales before he was 20-years-old and by the time he was 30 he was holding sales seminars all over the world and drawing stellar crowds. Like Mama, his quick wit served him well. No matter the situation; Jimmy went straight to the positive and turned it into laughter. His phone calls to me always started out with: "Well, Ruby Begonia, how ‘ya doin’?"

In his brief but flamboyant 51 years he made – and lost -- several fortunes and owned and sold, conservatively, at least 25 beautiful Corvettes. Some were vintage and others he bought off the show room floor. His last one was new, a bright, cherry red and he'd only had it a couple of months. Jimmy also had a penchant for expensive, exotic-skinned, cowboy boots, which were always shined to the max. His students treated him like royalty, called him constantly for advice and obviously considered him a diety in the sales world.

His last big hurrah, as far as crazy humor, was he viewed the statement "Ladies and gentleman, Elvis has left the building," the most ridiculous declaration he’d ever heard and never missed an opportunity to make jokes about it. He utilized it in his seminars and daily interaction with whomever he happened to be conversing with. In planning his funeral; I tried hard to magnify his positive attitude and minimize the tragic circumstances of his death.

I decided on a graveside service and asked Jimmy’s preacher, an associate pastor of a Baptist Church in Dallas, to conduct it. Brother Sam, a handsome, 6’ 7" tall, black man had been very instrumental in my brother’s walk of faith. He was inordinately kind and he and Jimmy had been close friends for years. Sunshine blessed us the day of the funeral but the wind was blowing in great, dusty gusts as we all stood under the tent in the small, bleak cemetery.

When the brief service was over everyone hurried to get to their cars and out of the cold wind and Brother Sam, my brother Steven and I were the only ones left standing under the flapping tent. Brother Sam said his farewells, prayed with us and went to his car. He turned to wave at us, one more time, and for all the world, with the wind blowing his black robes and his huge stature; one could only liken him to Moses on the mountain. As he pulled out of the cemetery a swirling cloud of Texas caliche dust came in which, when the dust cleared away, proved to be a young man driving a big, cherry red Corvette. At the sight of the Corvette, Steven and I both swallowed real hard.

Seems the new arrival, a young man, had been one of Jimmy’s students and it soon became apparent – Jimmy had not only been his mentor but was his hero. He’d tried to get there for the service but had been delayed by highway construction coming out of Dallas. He expressed his condolences with tears in his eyes, visited briefly with Steven and me and finally got in his car to leave. He started the huge motor and revved it a few times producing a huge roar – just like Jimmy used to do. When the tires of the Corvette screeched, spun and threw gravel as he roared off; Steven and I stood mesmerized.

It was one of those "this just can’t be happening" moments and both of us watched in silence as the big, red Corvette left in a spiraling cloud of dust spotlighted by one direct ray of late afternoon sunlight shining down through the clouds. The two of us stood in abject silence and watched with tears running down our faces.

Steven was the first to find his voice, "Well, Ruby Begonia, looks like our little brother has left the building!" And so he had.