A few weeks ago a blog I follow challenged us to share a childhood memory. This particular blog,
"A thousand words....and then some" is to encourage people to write.
I am not a writer. I have never kept a journal or diary long enough to brag about. I write some poetry-usually about someone or a group of "someones" that I love. I do enjoy song writing and have done that with some measure of success. (Success: someone besides myself seems to enjoy it!)
But when it comes to writing-just plain old writing-well, I never did much of that until I became a blogger. For some reason, writing in a blog is fascinating to me.
I love having a medium with which to share everyday happenings and thoughts. I enjoy how everything is all neat and organized and laid out so well in the blog format. It amazes me that I can open up a page in the world wide web and there is our family staring back at me.
And so, for the first time, I write.
As I follow Amy's blog it has been only out of curiosity, really. I highly respect and admire Amy, besides calling her family and a dear friend. Amy
IS a writer and has been faithfully writing in one form or another for years. But this particular assignment intrigued me. I have so many great childhood memories. I grew up in a godly home. I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for that. I have an extended family that loves me. I grew up with a Bramma and Lew--who else can lay claim to such a privilege? I had an Uncle Tony and Aunt Dee who loved me as their own and gave me some of my "firsts"--like my first fishing pole and tackle box. (There is nothing like fishing on the Erie Canal with a Country Time Lemonade at your side!) I had the greatest cousins ever! Just the memories from them alone could fill its own separate blog! I made wonderful friends through the years and am enjoying catching up with many of them on Face book now. I grew up as the oldest child of two highly disciplined parents who gave me the discipline, character and motivation that have served me well. I have a brother who was my best friend for years and who I haven't seen in far too long. (I miss you, Rob!) I have the sweetest sister ever-you could never convince me differently!
I have been singly blessed with the best pastors and teachers in my life from early childhood on. I could easily tell you ways that each specifically influenced me. I am very aware of their fingerprint on the blueprint of the person I have became. I am humbled and deeply grateful.
But when I read about Amy's writing challenge I thought of what would probably be considered a sad memory. Not the memory that comes up in a crowded room full of loved ones and laughter talking about the good old days. But it is the memory that I am convinced that did more to mold me than any other event with the exception of my salvation. (Just a thought...how about all of us blogging about our salvation experience? What better thing is there to write about? How about it?)
So without any further ado...I will tell you about my brother-Ricky.
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From my earliest recollections I knew I had a brother.
He just didn't live at home with me.
I never remember thinking that was odd in any way. It was just the way things were. He was far too sick to live at our house.
He was only 10 months younger than myself. We were "Irish Twins", siblings who share the same age for a short time each year. (I now have my own "Irish Twins"--Ricky & Ryan.) I would learn when I was much older that my Mom had contracted a mild case of German Measles while expecting her second child. Mild case for her, that is. It carried devastating effects for the young life she was carrying.
When he was first born there was not a lot of cause for alarm, but within a few short weeks there were many signs that caused worry. I cannot give you the long official medical name for Ricky's condition, but I can tell you the effects it had on his body.
He never talked.
He never walked-or crawled-or made any voluntary movements on his own.
He was blind.
It is believed that he was deaf, but it could not be proven as it was difficult to test to know for sure. My parents taught me to talk to him "just in case"....and so I did-praying that he could hear me. And if he could hear me, I hoped he could hear the "love" in my voice.
He grew in length, but didn't put on any weight. I remember several times when I was 5 and 6 years of age holding Ricky in my lap with help from my parents. I would hold his upper body and his legs would be on Rob's lap as he sat next to me. I could take my first finger and thumb and encircle Ricky's tiny wrist. I marveled at how skinny he was.
I remember time after time going with my parents to the special children's facility where Ricky lived. He had so many needs that it made it virtually impossible for him to live at home. He required around the clock care and medication. He had to live where the temperature was constant. Slightest variances reeked havoc on his sick body. His immune system was not much help to him.
I would sit in the back seat of our station wagon watching for the big building where my brother lived. I walked in with my parents and Rob (and in the last year of his life, Sarah) usually bearing a gift. I remember all the larger than life Disney characters painted so cheerily on the hall walls. Then peeking through the small window in the door of the room where he lived. Waiting for the nurses to bring him out to a small room where we would visit. The big wooden wheelchair bed that would bring him into us. Of talking to him, stroking him, telling him about my "normal" life...and having a strong measure of guilt that he could not share in my life in a "normal" way.
I recall always liking the kind nurses there, but one time I was mad at them! As I visited my brother I realized how very yellow his teeth were. I was certain that the only possible cause for this was that his teeth were not getting brushed! (I had watched a lot of Captain Kangaroo and knew the toothbrush song very well!) I shared my indignant concerns privately with my Mother. She gently explained to me that the medicines that Ricky took in order to stay alive were so strong that they stained his teeth. The nurses did brush his teeth every day. My faith in them was restored...
During one of these visits we had this picture taken. It is a priceless keepsake now, but we did not know that at the time. Sarah was born in February and Ricky died in July. This was taken in the intervening months. The only complete family photo we have.
When the visit would be over we would say good-bye. How I dreaded those times! I longed to pick him up and carry him home-though even in my immaturity I knew that doing such a thing would probably kill his already delicate and fragile body.
The long car ride home always consisted of two things: Me turned around in the back seat looking at the building until it was completely out of sight and a lot of silence as everyone was lost in their own thoughts.
July 18, 1978 started out as a very special day in our home. My parents had told Rob and I that we were going somewhere and that it was a surprise! We were very excited and highly anticipated this event. It was almost time to leave and I was finishing putting my sneakers on when the phone rang. Within a few seconds my "oldest child perception" realized something was gravely wrong. Soon my mother started to weep. I had never seen that before. She gently told me that Ricky had contracted pneumonia and died.
And a part of our hearts died that day as well.
The next several days were a whirlwind of activity and I have many snippets of memories. Extended family was everywhere loving us and surrounding us. I remember my Daddy carrying me to the casket so I could see Ricky one more time. I am forever grateful that my parents chose to let me see him. I looked on his thin face and white-blond hair and realized that he was much better off now. I was almost 7 and there was some hesitancy about the wisdom in allowing a young child to see a loved one in a casket; but death is a part of life and I needed to see my brother one more time.
I helped choose the hymn for his funeral.
Saviour, Like A Shepherd Lead Us-what a great hymn to have been in my heart at such a tender age. Never discredit the influence church has on a child.
In the aftermath of his "Heaven-going" many sweet and thoughtful tokens of love came our way. One that may have meant the very most to a heartbroken little girl was a pencil sketch done by my cousin, Ken. Ken is obviously a very talented artist. I did not even realize before this what a simple pencil could accomplish! He asked for a shoe from each one of us children. He also took a small stuffed duck that had been given to Ricky-and with these humble items drew and framed a keepsake that is treasured in our family. It is about 18 inches by 24 inches. It is one of my most treasured possessions. If a fire broke out in my home and if my children were safe, this is what I would grab:
(
my shoe, Sarah's, Ricky's & Rob's)It now hangs in my home after making its rounds in my family. It will now stay with me for as long as I live, and then will go to my oldest son...Ricky.
I waited for many, many days in the aftermath of my brother's death before I approached my parents with a very important question-what was our special surprise? Where were we going when that life-altering phone call came? Trying to be sensitive to their grief I waited a long time to ask, but I guess it was too long. They could no longer remember. And it was no longer important. But God knows I will be asking Him about it one day. :)
So.....why did I share this childhood memory? Because, quite honestly, Ricky's life and death set the tone of the rest of my growing up experience. For years, I thought of him every day. The Bible states in Hebrews 12:1:
"Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us,"Countless times as I was outside playing, walking to school, strolling to the library I would look up at the vast sky and talk to Ricky. In my child-like faith I was certain that Ricky was in my great cloud of witnesses. I was certain he was watching me--when he wasn't running up and down the golden streets. I was so thrilled he could jump and run! I was so excited that the first thing he would ever see was Jesus Himself.
And I wanted him to be proud of me.
I wanted to keep rules. I wanted to always do the right thing. I wanted to be obedient. I wanted to live by standards and convictions. I wanted to live a good life for both of us. So many worldly temptations held no temptation for me. I knew giving in to those things would dishonor my brother's life in some way. As I got older I did things for the love of my God, but Ricky was someone with "skin on them" that had captured my young heart.
It may sound funny to you, but I wanted his influence on my life to be an investment he was proud of. His spent his short six years living in a way that most of us would find unbearable for one day. God had a reason for the way my brother lived his life and I do not question it. But I do know that one of those reasons was for me. He was my brother and I know that God put Ricky in my life for a purpose.
Other lessons I learned from his young life..and from my parents:
1.)Love the unlovable. In a sense, Ricky gave us nothing. He couldn't. We loved him simply because we wanted to. This was my first tangible picture of the love of Christ. I have nothing of any worth to give Him, yet He loves me.
John 3:16
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."2.)I will never discredit the grief of a child. Children are far more perceptive then we often give them credit for. I love to interact with children. Teaching and loving children is a passion of mine. Much, if not all, of that comes from my memories of deep thoughts about Heaven, death and life and relationships while I was still very young. I want to be a part of the molding process of other young lives.
3.) I feel the emotions of others very quickly. Recently a young lady I have the privilege of teaching shared with me her Grandpa died. I cried with her and let her see my tears. The Bible says to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. Another young girl recently called me in tears. She had arrived home from church to find that her pet bird died. She called me for comfort. How I thrilled to know that she knew she could call me. She knew I would think that it was important. She knew there was an adult who would share her pain.
4.) No one just "gets over" life-changing experiences. They stay with us forever. They truly become a part of us. And that is how God meant for it to be. May I always be patient with those going through the grieving process. It will always be a part of their lives in some way or another. Never tell someone to "just get over it." They can't.
God has graciously allowed us to keep our Ricky keepsakes over the years. A few years after his death my Dad was called into the ministry. We packed everything we owned into the biggest U-Haul you can rent and took off across the country for Dad to go to college and train. Shortly after our arrival while we slept in a motel, thieves hot-wired our truck and drove away. In one moment every possession we owned save our suitcases in the motel were gone. We were devastated at such a loss as anyone would be, but knew God would bring us through. Our real mourning was for irreplaceable items like this raccoon. His name is Ricky. (Original, huh?) My parents bought it for me to give Ricky as a gift. After his death they gave it to me to keep. It was my most valuable possession.
Six weeks after the truck was stolen the police located our abandoned truck in a rough part of Gary, Indiana. My parents went to see the truck and fill out police reports. When they opened the truck it was completely empty...except for a couple of boxes. Yes, you guessed it....Ricky's things. You could NEVER convince me that God doesn't love me!
(Side note....a couple of years later one of my jackets that was lost on the truck showed up...another neat story for another day...)
Somewhere in my late teen years I decided that my oldest son would someday be named Ricky. During my college dating years it suddenly occurred to me that my future husband might have ideas of his own of naming his oldest son after himself! To be honest, I panicked as this was a dream that was precious to my heart. I made it a matter of prayer and worried about it no more. Then into my life came Rick. God's proof that He loves me once again! Rick was more than I ever dreamed in my teenage imaginations of Prince Charming--and he came with the perfect name. So my oldest son is named after his Dad, my Dad --- and my brother.
And Sarah and I honored Ricky at our respective weddings by having Ricky's white Bible carried by our ring bearers instead of the traditional pillow. It was especially a bittersweet and precious moment at Sarah's wedding as she had my son Ricky carry Uncle Ricky's Bible. He may be gone, but he is not forgotten!
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Amy calls her writing blog "A Thousand Words...and Then Some." I am not counting how many words are here, I am just glad there was not a limit. ;)
I have really shared my heart and feel a bit hesitant placing this out in public view. I know that mere words do not adequately describe what I carry in the sacred recesses of my heart. But I
do realize that some who read my blog loved Ricky too. He was your son, brother, grandchild, nephew...and it is good for us to stop and remember this special boy who changed us all.
I share because my siblings were too young to have memories of their big brother and I want them to know him.
I share because I so desperately want my children to know their uncle. He helped to mold me into who I am and now I influence my children. A large part of who I am is because of an uncle they will not meet until we reunite on the "Other-side."
To those of you who never met him, I sincerely hope you walked away challenged in some way after reading about his brief life. I so badly do not want Ricky's life to have been in vain.
I have typed this through many tears and need to go dispose of the mountain of tissues beside me, but would like you to see this one more time...
You see, my family hopes to get together next year for a very long overdue family reunion. If we do, I will take lots and lots of pictures. Our family has grown these past few years with the wonderful additions of two sons-in-law, a daughter-in-law and 12 grandchildren. But no matter how many family pictures I take, I will
never have another
complete one this side of Heaven.
I love you, sweet Ricky!
Love your family
today...it is all you have.
Thanks for stopping by,
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