Hello my faithful Bedouinwoman and Facebook note readers!!!
It has been several weeks since I have written anything and I thought it was about time because on Sunday of last week something profoundly sweet happened to me while walking around in New Orleans.
I had spent about 7 days in Florida visiting family members and had a great time. My daughter and family was kind enough to drive to NO to pick me up at the airport. My equally kind son-in-law Tim decided to give me a short tour of NO, I’m so glad he did. Even though I was tired from my visit to FL and the early hour in which I had to arise to catch a plane, I felt very blessed to have this time with them.
Having said all the above I must take a step back in time and tell you about my brother “Knobby”. You heard right, I have no idea where or how that nickname came about. Ever since I can remember that was the name his friends called him. He was 9 years older than me and I loved him with all my heart. I was the youngest of 7 children, a very unexpected arrival. My brother’s full name was Robert Emmett Walsh, I called him Bobby.
Bobby was a very talented man, he played the banjo and guitar. Ever since I can remember he practiced these musical instruments, our house was always full of this music, no matter how dysfunctional my family was I could always depend on my brother calming the house down with his music.
Fast forward many years later, my sweet brother developed Hodgkin’s Disease. This disease should not have been a death sentence for my brother. In fact, I have a niece that also developed this disease and she is still living a highly functional life. There is a medical regime you must follow in order to stay healthy to put this disease into remission, unfortunately he did not do this and passed away at the tender age of 41 years old, a very, very sad day for me and my family.
I want to tell you about how this brother of mine loved and cared for me though the years. When he went into the Army I was devastated and missed him so much, but the 2 years he was away, he wrote me short letters and many small gifts from Korea and Japan, some of which I still have safely tucked away. Every once in awhile when cleaning out stuff I come across them and sit and remember my sweet brother. When my mom told me he was coming home I went to the store and bought him handkerchiefs with his initials on them. I was so happy to see him walk through that door! He hugged me and I knew he was happy to see me, but something was different, he had changed. I guess the military has that effect on people. I was sad, disappointed and mad, so very mad. So mad that I took that handkerchief that I had spent my hard earned allowance on and blew my nose on it after having cried my heart out.
He never knew that but it made me feel better, for some unknown reason. Things settled down and he became a regular part of my day. Once again the music started and my life was back on track with my brother home at last.
Several more years had passed, I had married and began my family, my brother was an integral part of me and my kids lives. Unfortunately, only my 3 oldest kids got to know this great man.
Several more years passed and I was now divorced and my kids and I were living with my father(a whole nother story, for another time). My father was an asthmatic and an asthma attack and a clot to the brain and he was gone! My brother was there for me, he literally moved in with me and the kids to get me through this very hard time of my life.
I don’t know about you, my readers, but I absolutely love Jazz and blues music, I think it’s because this is the music I grew up with. Bobby, in the living room practicing his Banjo. Going to a certain local club where he and his band “The Old Wazoo Good Time Band”played every Friday and Saturday night. They were all friends, he and his band, and they were good! One time they decided to have a “flapper” night, all music from the 20’s and 30’s and he asked me to help him out with opening night by dressing as a “flapper” and serving food. This was one of those times that go into your memory bank as one of the best times of your life.
Then Hodgkin’s Disease hit and it hit hard. Hospital stays, medications, weight lose, depression and virtually helplessness set in. I remember his appetite was so poor that when he did eat it was a great accomplishment. At this point in time we lived quite a ways away from each other but when a call came from him I was on the road to be with him. I remember one night in particular when a call came asking me to fix him some bacon and eggs, so I was on the road and 20 minutes later I was standing at his stove cooking the requested bacon and eggs. He couldn’t eat them, just made him so sick. I sat with him this night and rubbed lotion on his very dry, pealing and cracked skin on his legs and feet. I cherish the nights I spent with him helping him and supporting him.
Another hospital stay, during which time my brother was visited by my pastor. He, my brother, accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as his Savior. This was also a special time for me as I was in nursing school, something Bobby was so proud of, he bragged to the doctors and nurses about his sister, the nursing student, I think he knows that I did graduate and spent the next 30+ years working in that field.
Isn’t it strange that you never really see extended family members unless someone dies or gets married, a sad fact. It was a closed casket, something he requested and we adhered to. My brother Gordie was with him at the end. It was the middle of the night when the call came to me. Babies come into the world and people leave the world in the middle of the night.
I needed to give you, my readers, just a small peek into my world with my brother to give you an idea how profound the rest of this story is. Fast forward, once again, back to Sunday and my tour of NO. The day was cool and windy but comfortable as we walked the quaint streets, looking at the buildings and people of this city. We heard the music and followed it to this side street where a very unique group of people were playing, a tuba, horn, washboard and banjo like instrument. The tune was jazzy and bluesy and it was mesmerizing to say the least, along with the people playing them.
If it wasn’t for my daughter I would have been clueless. As we began walking away, she asked me, “did you see the washboard player”? I said “no, why”? She said “you need to”, as I turned around, I was blown away. You see this guy was hidden by one of the other players and had I not turned around to see once again, I would have missed this man that was an exact replica of my brother Bobby. My brother had red hair, a full red beard and always wore a cap, a typical Irishman he was. The washboard player, had red hair, a full red beard and had a cap on his head, very much like my brother, he was also the height and body build of my brother.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched this man, who could have been Bobby, playing his instrument, making sweet, bluesy music. I wanted to run up to him, put my arms around him and tell him how much I miss him. In my mind that is exactly what I did.
I believe God had given me this vision to let me know that someday, we will be reunited in a place called heaven. I look forward to the day I can put my arms around Bobby and tell him how much I missed him.
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