Thinking bout Jimmy

Okay, I tried not to deal with the emotions and the rain today but wishing William Miles, Sr. a happy birthday pushed my final button.

One of the intrigues in my life was that my brother, James A. Davis and my former husband had the same birth dates. They were the exact same age.

My brother would have been 73 today. Instead, he has been dead for three years plus. He never made it to 70. My brother was not the one for politics, continuing education, technology, or international travel.

Jimmy was a jovial and happy person. He did not carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like I do. He never took this world too seriously. He could find laughter in his own jokes, and he could put a smile on your face when you were not standing around judging him and why he was not more engaged in the world's mess.

On some levels, I might have even envied him not being as uptight and involved in the world's mess. Unlike me, Jimmy had someone to turn to when his world got a little bit cloudy -- first, he had his "mother," that is what he always called our Mother (when she was living, I called her mom or mama -- now I call her Mother). When she died in 1993, he had me.

He often caused me concern because he would just do what he wanted to do. He did not worry about tomorrow. For that matter, he did not worry much about today. He just enjoyed the moment and moved on to the next.

He loved his family. His children and grandchildren meant the world to him. Whenever he shed a tear, it was about his children. He was born to be a father, and when his life took a divide in 1974 when he was in a serious truck accident and lost his leg, his life and his family fell apart. I will never forget that day because my brother's life was forever changed. So was mine.

Jimmy was an eighteen-wheeler from the heart. He knew every truck and car ever built. He could name them, work on them, fix them, but he preferred driving them cross-country. He could not read a map, but he could take you to any destination in the U. S. that you wanted to go to. He had a sense of direction.

Although I was the caregiver, the go-to person, Jimmy never needed my help to find his way back home. He moved from Florida to Boston where he stayed for many years, but when the spirit hit him, he would get in his car and drive to Florida making little stops in between UNLESS he was in a hurry.

I remember his last trip from Boston. He was in a hurry, but his old car did not want to make the trip. Jimmy stopped by and I got the car repaired had a great dinner with him at the Mid-Atlantic Seafood Restaurant in New Carrollton and watched him and his daughter, Florence Ellison drive off into the sunset.

I never saw him again. He died a few months later. I believe Jimmy did not want to die just yet, but I know that he died happy because he was surrounded by those whom he loved and cherished the most.

Jimmy, I miss you so much, and I thank God every day for making you my brother well, I guess I will be honest, making you my Mother's son. I love you and know that you were all that you wanted to be and that you were content.

Happy birthday, big brother.