In Memory

I grew up in a little town called Red Bank, Tennessee, a suburb of Chattanooga. I've written quite a bit about my growing up years, but I haven't really written much about my school experiences from my youth. I'm not sure why I haven't penned much about some of the things I remember so vividly from my years at Red Bank Elementary, Red Bank Junior High and Red Bank High. Some of those memories are tender and sweet, like walking to the furniture store where my mom worked that was just a block away from the elementary school. Once we got to the store, mom would give me and my friend Cindy each a quarter and let us walk across the street to the Red Bank Drug Store where we would sit on stools at the fountain counter and drink real cherry cokes and eat penny candy. Some of those memories center around my teachers, like my junior high English teacher who took me under her wing and challenged me to write from my heart. And some of those memories involve my renegade behavior from when I was in high school, like going under the bleachers during Friday night football games and sneaking a smoke or kissing boys. It's funny how I can close my eyes and picture those scenes in my mind as if they happened yesterday ... I can see the entrance to Red Bank Elementary at the end of the long drive up the hill; I can hear the squeak of Converse shoes on the basketball court at Red Bank Junior High; I can smell the old wooden plank hallways of Red Bank High. Lots and lots of memories from my school years for sure.

A couple of years ago, I stumbled upon a Facebook group called In Memory - Red Bank High School, a page where people could post information about folks who had either attended or taught at the school and have since passed away. After reading through several of the postings, I decided to post a comment asking if anyone remembered my brother Jerry. A few people replied saying what a great guy my oldest brother was, and then for over a year, there was no more commentary in response to my original post. A few weeks ago, however, people began commenting again and telling me what an awesome teacher Jerry was ... weird because it had been so long since anyone wrote anything. Just yesterday, a lady who taught with Jerry left a very sweet comment that ended with the words, "Jerry was a very special person." I think most of us who have lost loved ones hope they are remembered and thought of fondly, but when I realize that people are telling me of the impact my brother had upon them ... get this ... 40 years ago ... Jerry died 40 years ago ... it is both honoring and humbling at the same time. You see, my brother made a difference to people, he changed people's lives, he gave more than he took, and the people who knew him loved and respected him.

Those of you who've been reading my blog for a while know that I don't believe there are many things in life that happen by chance. Instead, I tend to view all of the events of my life as being God-things ... lessons He wants me to learn, truths He wants me to absorb, directions He wants me to follow. So for the last couple of days, I've found myself wondering just why people have been commenting about my brother on the In Memory site; in fact, when I read the lady's post yesterday, I said out loud to Julie and Ollie, "What's up with that, dogs? Wonder why God has me thinking about Jerry so much all of a sudden?" By the time I went to bed last night, I was waffling between sane thoughts (it's just a fluke that people have started posting again, not God, not a lesson, nothing but a fluke) to irrational ones (maybe they aren't just random posts, maybe they are from Jerry and he's trying to communicate with me) ... oh, don't worry ... the places my brain goes now scares me, too. 

After my quick walk this morning, I turned on my laptop to check my bank account and decided to hop on Facebook for a minute to look at some photos a friend had texted me about last night. The message icon indicated that I had a message, so I clicked on the tab to open it. I didn't recognize the name, but the subject line was "Your dear brother Jerry," so I figured it wasn't junk or spam or some malicious virus that would destroy the entire universe. My eyes immediately filled with tears as I read the first line of the message ... "You don't know me, but I knew your brother, Jerry." And as I continued to read, the tears flowed and flowed and flowed. "I worked with Charlotte at the hospital and my husband and me were good friends with Jerry and Charlotte. We shared so many fun times together, and I want you to know that your brother was a special man. He loved Charlotte and his sons so much, and he loved being a teacher. There are many of us who still live in Chattanooga who think of him often and remember the night of his accident. I remember that night very well because I was working that night. I was one of the nurses in the operating room. I was there when your brother passed away." 

Her note went on to tell me of how many lives Jerry had touched in his 30 years of life, of students who attributed part of their success in life to a teacher and coach named Jerry. Needless to say, I shed a lot of tears as I got ready for work this morning and I couldn't help but ask God as I stood weeping in the shower ... "Why now, God? Why all this about Jerry now?" And as He often is, God was silent ... no answer, no nudge, no quiet inner voice. It was as I was driving home tonight this evening that I began to hear Him whispering to me. "Remember the tree house Jerry built for his sons and you?" I thought ... Of course I remember. That's why I named my blog The Tree House ... because it was in that tree house that I first told Jerry that I wanted to be a writer one day. It was in that tree house that I dreamed big dreams and watched the stars and ate cheese sandwiches and listened to my big brother read stories to his two young sons. It was in that tree house that I finally cried over his death. It was in that tree house that I begged God to bring him back to me. Of course I remember the tree house, God ... of course I remember the tree house. By the time I pulled into my garage, tears were once again streaming down my cheeks as memories of times with Jerry in the tree house swept through my mind. I laid my head back on the headrest in my car as His whisper became a thundering truth pounding in my brain and spilling over into my heart.

"Climb into the branches of my grace and love, child ... climb into the tree house and rest in me. Remember the peace that embraced you as the wind blew through the tree and Jerry whistled in time with the breeze ... remember the safety that held you as Jerry wrapped a blanket around you in the cold ... remember the love, Terrie ... remember the love your brother gave so freely to you. Climb the ladder, Little Bit ... climb the ladder and come into the tree house with Me."