Where do I start? Awhile back I wrote something about my youngest brother playing Barbies with me. My brother Bob commented that he wished he would have spent more time on things that were fun for me. He truly is clueless. Yes, we played some board games. One was I think called "Dream Date" or something like that... but that doesn't really scratch the surface of my memories of him. Maybe he doesn't really remember that he was the one that would tell my other two brothers "It's okay, let her come along" or "Don't make her cry". Oh, he got his shots in on teasing too, but when it came to sticking up for me, he's the only one I remember doing that. Maybe he doesn't remember playing cards with Grandma Lucas for hours and hours every weekend, Canasta I think was the name of the game.
My more vivid memories though, were later in our years. I remember being afraid to go to a school dance because I didn't know how to dance. Bob and I danced in the bedroom quite a few times, lessons in non-klutziness... He has no idea how thankful I was for that... He also taught me how to smoke... Gave me my first puff and then told me that I must have already been smoking because I didn't cough. I think I was destined to fight that ugly habit most of my life, because I actually enjoyed it from the very first puff. So, I don't know whether I should be thankful that he did this, or curse him for it. Thankfully, both of us have kicked it for good. Both of us around the same time too. Karma?
I remember coming home from the prom.. having an anxiety attack from taking too many No Doz. Who do I run to? Bob. What does he tell me? You need to eat meat. Raw meat. Bologna will work. So what do I do? I eat about 1/2 pound of Oscar Meyer Bologna, and I still freak out. More meat he says. More Bologna. I think about it now and I realize that it wasn't really the bologna that made me feel better, it was the perception that it would help, and it did. Thank you Bob.
I remember coming home one night from a 4-H play practice to find nobody home and note from my mom that said "Be right back". Was kind of odd as my mom rarely went anywhere. Even more odd was that it was around dinner time and my dad wasn't home, and there was no dinner even started. Odd. Then the phone call came. Someone... to this day I don't know who... called and scared the daylights out of me. They asked if my parents were home and then proceeded to tell me that my brother was in a motorcycle accident. Said that he lost an eye. Said that he was busted up really bad. Said he broke his legs, his arms, his back. Said he had head injuries and wasn't sure he if he was going to live or not. They took him to Hamot Hospital by ambulance. I remember screaming for help. I remember my brain racing and my eyes crying. Where were my parents? My mom didn't come "right back". How could I tell them? There were no cell phones.. I was stuck in the country with no way to get anywhere, nobody to call, no way to know if my brother was ok. I tried calling my other brother, no answer. I sat in the middle of the dining room on the floor crying and screaming for help. It took almost an hour when my mom finally called home and told me that she was at the hospital. I didn't get to go to the hospital until the next day. I was angry at everyone because I wanted to go. I needed to be with my brother. I thought about riding my bike but i didn't know how to get there. I was young enough that I didn't have any friends that drove yet. I was stuck. I was angry. I got to go the next day. He didn't lose an eye but it was all bruised and scraped. He didn't break his back, but he was busted up pretty bad. I went to the hospital every single day after that. Nine months of it. I would bring him dumb toys to play with. I would watch TV with him. I sat with him while we listed to the man in the same room with him breathe his last breath. There was an eerie silence about that.
Bob got to come home for Christmas! I was so excited. He had a hospital bed in our downstairs den and a TV. I would rush home from school to play cards or just sit with him and watch TV I remember one day dragging a recliner chair all the way downstairs and into the den because we got this crazy idea that we could tilt him up in that chair and he could play cards easier. I nearly broke my back getting that chair in there. Then we finally got him in the chair and his body cast cracked.. Yikes! I was so scared that it would hurt him! But wow, he could really sit up a little. That body cast was not easy to get around in! ha ha I remember somehow (the details are not real clear) but I think he had just regular casts on his legs, or maybe just one leg, but he couldn't wear a regular pair of jeans. So I got one of those rivet kits and took a pair of jeans and sliced up the sides and laced them up so he could wear them. We went to a school dance and it was the first time a lot of people had seen him since his accident. I was so proud of him. He had a long recovery and it was not easy for him. Friends come to visit you the first few weeks, but after awhile they quit coming. I didn't quit. For some stupid reason, I felt like I had to be there. I thought he needed me. I'm not sure if he thought that or not, but I wasn't going to miss a day.
Bob was the person that I would go to when I didn't know what to do, or if I had boy troubles or was mad at the parents. He was my blood, my hero, my rock. He doesn't know how important he was to me. He will probably never know how much.
Bob once ran away with the circus. He took care of the Jaguar that was in the commercials. (If I remember that correctly). He hitchhiked to Florida. He DID things that I would have been way to scared to do. Most of the time, I was the only one who knew where he was. I don't know why that was... Maybe nobody else cared to ask? I needed to know where he was. Maybe he knew that. I still have a post card he sent me from one of his adventures. How I envied him. When we were older, and both married, we lived in the same apartment complex and when times were bad, we helped each other out, shared food when necessary.
There are times when I miss him terribly. We live on separate sides of the country, but I know he's closer to me than most people. I don't always agree with him, sometimes I truly don't understand him, but that's okay. He understands me. He understands my relationship with my parents. He gets it. He's always on my side. There are times when I feel like it's really just him and I. Blood. Love.
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