My little brother and I walked hand in hand down the street trying to impress each other with our bad language. Our mother had yelled at us; behind her back, we called her names. Then we got scared at what we had done and we promised never to tell another soul what we had said. This secret pact was the beginning of a strong bond that held us together closely for many years.
Patty was two years younger than I. He had springy little blonde curls which in later life magically transformed into wavy brown hair. He was born with a congenital cataract; one eye was blue, and one was green. He was told that both eyes would eventually turn inward. Since I had two lazy eyes, which drifted off whenever they felt like it, we had a lot in common.
We never battled each other for our place in the family. After the secret pact, he was simply the baby boy and I was the baby girl.
All of us were born at home in the same big bed in the same small town. We only had meat on Sunday, and were the last people on the block to have T.V. Perhaps this was the reason for making our own brand of entertain- ment. We had lots of visitors because we had lots of fun.
Patty was a fun loving soul. He invented his own words to replace those he didn't like. I would be determined never to use them, but within a very short time, those words would creep into my conversations. We were never angry; we were perkled. There were no dummies in this world; we called them hoofnecks. Every person he met was given his own personal nickname, oftentimes poking fun at him in some inobtrusive way. Usually people were totally unaware of this fact and before long would respond happily to their new nickname. Even the most dignified people succumbed to his persuasive manner.
Patty could imitate all the comedians and knew well every move of the Three Stooges. He matured into a strikingly handsome young man called Pat. He was tall and lean. A beautiful singing voice was one of his natural talents and he was not shy. He kept a book listing titles of songs he knew by heart. At last count, there were six hundred and ninety two.
After his 18th birthday, he came to my town to look for a job. Eventually, he got married and had two children. He began to put his talents to work in a new way, reaching out to others less fortunate than himself. He helped a blind friend shop and label his food in Braille. If there was someone at work who he knew was lonely, he would invite them to dinner with his family. He was growing by leaps and bounds, both spiritually and mentally. Thanks to his wife, he began to go to a Baptist church, was saved and baptized. He became a very much loved member of the choir.
We still conferred with each other when problems would arise, and strangely enough, we followed each others' advice. If someone had told me of the pain and sadness to come, I would not have believed it. Life was too good.
One day, he mentioned that he was having a small lump removed from his thigh. The doctor said there was absolutely no reason to worry. It turned out to be a rare form of cancer which they knew very little about at that time. It was determined that he should have his leg amputated and that the doctor would have to go above the lump to make sure that he got it all. He was sure that he could handle having an artificial leg, and was determined to go back to work.
When the surgery was over, the doctor told us he had to go way above the cancer. What a shock it was to find that he had had a hemi-pelvectomy. Before this time, the only hemi-anything I had ever heard of was hemisphere. Now his leg and half of his pelvis were gone. His handsome young body came to a point on one side. All of us were filled with fright until his pastor came to visit. His Pastor told us about the God of Comfort - II Corinthians Chapter 1, Verses 3,4: "Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God." Those precious words helped us all.
Pat hopped around on his one leg and crutches, never asking for assistance. He had to do quite a balancing act because of the problem with the upper body. When his hair fell out from chemotherapy, he was given a wig which to him was like a child getting a costume on Halloween. He would put it on and sing and act stupid. The rest of the time he was Telly Savalas. Doctors would call on him to talk to their patients, and he would go wherever they asked to give them encouragement.
When the cancer metasticized to his lung, he remained optimistic. He had one operation on his lung and then went around visiting people who were facing similar problems to help them accept it.
One day, I took him to Baltimore for a check up (we all took turns). It turned out to be the day he was told the cancer was now in both lungs, and therefore, inoperable. He assured all of us that he would be okay, and we all pretended that he would. He didn't want us to be hurt. He told his wife not to tell anyone. It was so hard sometimes to pretend. It must have been even harder for him. The people he worked with made an appreciation certificate for him. By the time they were finished with it, there were over 200 signatures on it.
He had brought happiness and hope to so many people. Even during this time, he always had a smile on his face. He was one of the few people I knew who didn't have to change his ways because he had such a short time left on this earth .He had underlined in his Bible, Proverbs, Chapter 15, verses 13-15: "A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance; but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken. The heart of him that hath understanding seeketh knowledge; but the mouth of fools feedeth on foolishness. All the days of the afflicted are evil; but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast." And he kept his heart merry through much pain. I have never known a kinder, sweeter person since.
At Thanksgiving time and again at Christmas, our family gatherings were the sweetest and yet, the saddest we had ever had.
In the last week of his life, my older brother and I visited Pat every day, but finally we promised to leave him alone with his family. That very same night, I had an uncontrollable urge to see him. I drove there late at night, and strangely enough, bumped into my older brother who had the same urge! We all talked for a while; Pat never stopped smiling even though he was in a lot of pain. I asked him if he was worried about his family and he said, "God will take care of them." He told us that he was no longer worried about worldly things, that he had turned his eyes upon Jesus. I had to force myself not to cry. I didn't want to accept the fact that he was going. I reluctantly went home.
In Psalm 34, verse 4, it says "I sought the Lord and he heard me and delivered me from all my fears." I knew my brother had done that.
I could not sleep waiting for the call. It came four hours later. At twenty nine years of age, my little Patty was dead. The Secret Pact had ended. Although it has been many years, I can close my eyes and see him clearly. My heart aches for him.
