First Memories

Billy Lavon Patch
Born: Oct. 8, 1959
Died:  July 10, 2018

My brother died this past week. They said it was a pulmonary embolism. That's a blood clot in the lungs. He was only 58 and so full of life. That smile you see? That was always there.  You would rarely see him frowning and if he saw you, he'd throw up his hand and give you a smile and say "Hey, how ya doing!" And now he's gone. The world has lost another bright light.

No, he wasn't famous or wealthy. He was just real.

Let me take a minute and tell you about the little brother I grew up with and what his life was like back then.

Billy was a cute, curly-haired kid and my younger brother. I'm the oldest of 7 and he was #2. We were raised by our grandparents, Mama and Daddy, a long story to be shared another time. As children, we were close but drifted apart as teenagers for a bit. When I married, he felt betrayed because our Mama had died and I left home. We became closer after that but Daddy remarried and the new wife didn't want a teenager in her life and Daddy sent him away to live with our mother. Another betrayal but he coped and grew close to our other siblings who lived with her. Eventually, Daddy was sent away too when the new wife got all she could from him. He brought Billy home and said he'd made a huge mistake and would never do that again. I think they both suffered during that period.

My first clear memory of Billy was not when he was a baby. It was when they sent for Mama to come and get him. You see, he originally lived with our mother and when she remarried a GI, she took him with her. Doctors said I should not be removed from my grandparents. You see, I became sick because of the pending separation. So, I stayed and he left.

He was 2 when they told Mama he needed to come home. He was having bowel issues. He's stopped pottying because he was whipped every time he didn't use the potty. I can tell this now because everyone is dead. Even Billy. He knew the truth anyway. We were told my stepfather whipped him but after I grew up, I believe it was our mother that caused the problem. But I digress.

I remember Mama and I boarded a train in Mobile, Alabama headed to Columbus, Georgia to pick Billy up. It was my first train trip and it was exciting. I remember sitting in seats that faced one another and I liked sitting across from an adult in my own seat. Mama faced front and I sat opposite, facing her. I was only 5. I remember the train stopping on a trestle and I looked out the window. Far below was a rocky creek flowing under us. It was so exciting and as clear in my memory as a snapshot.

When we arrived in Columbus, I still remember the apartment house. It was a two-story shaped like an L and inside, we climbed these huge dark wood stairs. On the second floor was my mother's apartment. The next few moments are like a movie in my mind. The door opened and I went in first. Billy was lying on a bed in the room, bedclothes all mussed and piled up. I can't remember that room. All I see is this tiny curly-haired boy pushing up on the bed and sitting, and a beautiful smile stretching across his face when he saw us. Today, that memory is bittersweet. He was such a lovely little boy. The redish brown curls made him look like a cherub. I remember his arms going around my neck. And the memory ends.

We brought him home.