BEFORE BILLY is FORGOTTEN

"Hey, let me borrow ten bucks," my brother Billy insisted. It was payday, but he was looking for money. "But you just got done paying me back the 20 from last week, " I replied jokingly. We went through this every payday. I gave him the 10 bucks, and he was out the door. That, in a nutshell, was my Brother Billy. Not that he was irresponsible, he was just having fun in life. 2 years older than me, in our family of 6 children, me being the middle child, Billy was the girl magnet. His handsome looks, boyish demeanor, and love for fun was everything the teenage female population was looking for. That did not bode well for me, because the girls that liked him, were the girls I would pursue. On several occasions, a beautiful female would rush across the street to talk to me, but I knew the reason ahead of time. Not for me, but to tell my Brother a message from them. I should have been jealous, or envious, but instead I rationalized that at least I had gotten that close to one of my dream girls. All of this was about to change in an instant.

One September Saturday morning, after finishing my overtime shift at my full time job, my friends picked me up from work at noon. "Hey, did you hear about your Brother Billy?" my buddy asked. "Nope, what did he do now?" I casually replied. The air in the car became heavy with serious tones. My friend could not believe my parents, or siblings, hadn't contacted me yet. My friend, along with the two other girls in the car, blurted out the news. My bother had been in a serious car crash the night before. Two of the passengers in his car were killed instantly, one being my Brother's best friend, and my Brother had been badly burned, along with 3 other kids in the car. They had been hit by an oncoming vehicle as their car was trying to pull out onto Main St; in my hometown. The only reply I could have was one of disbelief. Were my friends kidding me, I hoped? How could they know something about my Brother that I hadn't even heard yet? Surely, I would have heard that kind of news first. "It's been all over the radio Rick," my friend explained, "And your Mom called the house this morning, but I told her you were at work. " Now came my thousand questions, which my friend only could answer two or three. My only thoughts was to get home to my Parents and Family. But, for some reason I'll never understand, my friend had other priorities at the time. He and his girlfriend had to stop at the store for milk and stuff. Without a cell phone in those days, my ride home seemed to take days, instead of an hour.

As I walked through my Parent's kitchen door, the looks on my siblings faces said it all. This was bad, really bad. My Brother's entire body had been badly burned, as the fuel tank in the station wagon he was riding in had been hit, and had thrown gas all over the occupants of the car. My parents had spent the night at the hospital, and were really shaken up. My brother had been transported to Mass. General Hospital during the night. His best friend David, and David's girlfriend, had been killed on impact. My Brother's girlfriend, sitting next to him in the back seat, had also been badly burned. The driver, and his girlfriend were not seriously hurt, but the driver of the vehicle that hit them had also been killed. Through all of this chaos, a story emerged, one that gave me hope. I never confirmed the story, but supposedly, my Brother asked my Dad, while being transferred between ambulances, for a cigarette. This was the Billy I knew, maybe he's fine, and this was all a big mistake, I rationalized. Those thoughts soon disappeared as I spoke to my Parents for the first time. Billy had been burned over 85% of his body, and there wasn't much hope for his survival. I remember the phone ringing off the hook, some of it media, some friends, but it was an awkward time.

The next several days were pretty mixed up, with emotions running high, and reality setting in. We all had to get back to work, even though our employers were very understanding. My other siblings had to get back to school. I think there were two very hard things to deal with though. First, we had David's family to console. This was very difficult, because as we had hope in our future, they had finality. David was gone forever. The same for David's girlfriends family. We also had our own harsh reality to deal with. Billy, as we knew him, was gone. No longer would the handsome kid, running around with no shirt on, showing off his body, be able to do that. If he lived, which was in extreme doubt on the Doctor's part, he would never be the same Billy. We cared nothing about that, we just wanted him to be alive, so we could help him. Perhaps the main reason I am writing this though, is the many good things to follow. People, especially ones we never met, had paid attention to his story, and were rooting for him too.More of that as we go along.

First, my Parents and I made the our first visit to see Billy. Although my Parents had seen him on the night of the accident, the staff at the hospital was very concerned about our reaction to seeing him in his new enviorement. We had to put surgical gowns on, and get the speech from the staff, preparing us for what we about to see. None of that mattered to the three of us. We just wanted him to know we were there for him. We were told that he was so drugged up that he would never know we were there, nor would he remember us being there. Who cared? Let us in to see our Billy. So they did. I will not describe the sight before us as we entered that room, with a few exceptions. On the bulletin board of his room was dozens of cards, from friends, and strangers, wishing him well. Flowers were present, and balloons. None near him, of course, because of fear of infection, but I wondered if the doctors were right, and if he knew what kind of support he was getting.

As we said hello to him, his first reaction was unusual. He raised his right arm slightly, almost as if to say hi. My mom had a different view. "He wants to write something," she quickly told the nurse. "That's not possible," she replied, "He is way to medicated to think that way." "Well I don't really care what you think," my Mother snapped back, "He wants to write something. Please get him a pen and pad." I couldn't believe my Mother. How could she know that? How could he even hold a pen? If he was as drugged as they insisted, what could he possibly be thinking to want to write? The answer came quickly. As the nurse carefully placed the pen and pad in place, Billy started to write!! He scrawled two words on the pad, then stopped. My Mother quickly picked up the pad and read what he was so determined to write. Our hearts nearly stopped. 'DAVID'S DEAD" were the two words. We all quickly glanced at each other, and gave him the scripted reply that we were told to give him, although I didn't agree. "No Billy," my Mom and Dad said at the same time, "David's in another hospital, and he isn't doing to good, but he might be OK." That was the only interaction we had with him for the next several visits. That was the only time he seemed to know what he wanted to do. My Mom knew that he didn't believe us. She seemed to always know a lot more than me, or my Dad. That was the first time in my life that I began believing in a Mother's intuition.

As the days went by, turning quickly into weeks, several things that changed my life happened. First, my employer at the time announced to me that they had a blood drive already scheduled, but they decided to donate the 91 pints of blood collected to Mass. General, in my Brother's name. The local radio station called my Dad on almost a daily basis, looking to update Billy's condition. My Parents began receiving mail fro m total strangers, wishing both them and Billy well. My Dad even got a letter from a stranger, offering his new Cadillac to my Dad, so we could make sure to get back and forth from the hospital OK, an offer my Dad politely declined. We began discussions for our own blood drive, and a bunch of us went around town posting flyers for the event. In the meantime, Billy began showing steady, by slow improvement. The staff began to have some hope when they talked to us, although they always cautioned us for the worst. My Dad and I continued to visit Billy, almost daily. It was just too much for Mom to see him that way some times. I believe that was the first time in my life that my Dad and I had bonded. But, I rationalized, it was all because of Billy. We got lost one time on the way to the hospital, a 60 mile trip, and my Dad told me to lock the car doors, because we ended up in a very bad neighborhood. I remember wondering why he had gotten lost after making this trip several times with no problems, but we were too busy, on a mission, so I never asked.

The day of the blood drive came. The American Red Cross set up shop at the local high school, one that Billy had attended, and dropped out from. I had an especially tough time that day. I couldn't give blood to my own Brother, because we both had Hepatitis as kids, so I was not allowed to give blood. The local paper covered the event, and what an event it was. To say that the Red Cross was not ready for the outpouring of people wanting to donate would be an understatement. The line of people willing to donate was as mixed of a crowd that I had ever seen, even to this day. Men in business suits, teenagers dressed in every way you could imagine. Old people, young people, middle-aged people, friends, relatives, complete strangers, all in line to give my Brother their blood. How cool was that. They all cared about Billy. After collecting 190+ pints of blood, the Red Cross had to shut down the operation, they were not equipped for more. To say that my family's spirits were lifted that night would not be close to how we all felt. Why did so many people care so much about our Billy? Maybe he touched more people that we even knew. In any case, Mass. General appreciated that blood. They asked us to donate, but never expected a truck load.

My Brother continued his progress, to the total shock of the staff at the hospital. Not shocking to us, but to them. He began to go through the skin grafting process, which he would need dozens of times. The only parts of his body not badly burned were his feet, which we attributed to his work boots, and his groin area, which we all attributed to him just being Billy. My Parents began getting phone calls from teenagers, mostly girls, who offered to donate their own skin to Billy, if he needed it. They explained that they never saw some of their body parts anyways. We all thought Billy was well on his way home.

I'll never forget the visit that my Mom, Dad, and I had several weeks into his recovery. It was the visit that Billy began talking to us for the first time. He had been so badly burned, including his face and vocal chords, that up until that time only allowed us to talk to him. Now it was his turn. I never saw my Mom more happy. He again told us he knew that David was dead, and he didn't appreciate us denying that. He described what he remembered about the accident, and how they had no chance to even moved before the other vehicle hit them. He recalled getting out of the car, and trying to pull his shirt off, because it was on fire, but he knew skin was coming off with it. He didn't remember much else. We had heard a few stories from different witnesses, and when asked about them, he never really wanted to talk about it. He just wanted to come home. That night, on the way home from the hospital, my Dad stopped at Howard Johnson's, and I believe the 3 of us ate the best meal of our entire lives. We smiled for the first time in weeks. The doctors may have been wrong, there was true hope, after all.

As Billy's progress continued, so did the surviving passengers. All 3 of them would be physically all right, but who knew about the mental side. Billy's 20th Birthday arrived, but because of medical procedures that day, we were discouraged form being there that night. But the staff had a cake for him, and he made a pass at one of the cute nurses. Yes indeed, Billy was getting better. It was 5 weeks since the accident, and our hopes were alive and well.

As his recovery continued, so did thoughts of him getting out of the hospital sometime before Christmas. He began walking in the hallways, and continued to show steady improvement. We all started talking about what he wanted when he got out, even though the staff was still cautioning us. Billy talked about not worrying about how he looked, because he would "just wear a shirt all the time." Even though this was all unrealistic, he told us that he wanted a motorcycle when he got out. A motorcycle? That's what he wanted, so we began to plan for that day, whenever it came. We decided to hold a benefit dance on his behalf. That was one thing I could do for him, and do it well. I had organized some town dances, and knew all about what it took to pull it off. Tickets were printed, fliers went up, and everything was booked, and ready to go. We would raise the money for that bike, we knew it. At the last minute though, the scheduled band had to bow out for health reasons, but I scheduled another band with no problem at all. It was a tribute band to Santana. We were all set to go.

Billy had a few setbacks along the way. Maybe he was trying too hard, or trying to rush his recovery. They had to slow down his rehab. Not a problem, so we all thought. In the meantime, my Parents got a visit from the U.S. Government, the Dept. of the Navy. I failed to mention that Billy had joined the Navy, and hated it. He was officially AWOL for well over a year now, but somehow the Government had finally tracked him down. My Parents were shocked by their appearance at our door. They quickly put my Parents at ease. They explained that because Billy was never officially discharged, he still technically "belonged to them." Instead of wanting to punish him though, they wanted to offer their help in his rehabilitation. They offered the best possible care the U.S. Government had to offer, if that was what he chose to do. Know we knew he was really coming home.

The day before the benefit dance, we all visited Billy in the hospital. We told him about the dance, an idea he hated by the way, and we also told him if he wanted the money we raised, then he would have to get out of his bed to come and take it from us. He didn't view that as a problem. The night of the dance arrived, and similar to the blood drive, people came from every background. Some just dropped off the money, some wanted an update, and some actually stayed to dance. The band was awesome, and we raised a lot of money. I remember going backstage to pay the band their $200.00 fee. I had it in a paper cup. They leader of the band told me that there was no way he would ever take that money, and told me he hoped for Billy to come home soon. We raised nearly $1,400.00 that night, which, for 1974, wasn't a bad take. The party at my Parents house that night was full of excitement. We all counted the money, put it into a paper bag, and couldn't wait to show it to Billy the next day.

For the first time, a few of Billy's friends came with us to see him. My Parent's and I got into our surgical gowns, as usual, and asked the nurse to tell Billy we were there. I held the paper bag full of money. As the nurse went into the hospital room to tell Billy we were there, she soon screamed, "CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE!" As doctors and nurses rushed into his room, my Mother slumped down, and slowly walked around the corner of the hall. When we went to see if she was OK, she told us "Billy's dead, I know he's dead!" As much as we tried to reassure her, we all knew she had been right all the way along. As the doctors and nurses worked on my Bother, I secluded myself behind some double doors. I didn't want them to find me, so they could tell me the truth. I had the bag of money, after all. An hour later, a Doctor came to get me, and ushered me into a room my Parents were in. Nobody needed to say anything. For the first, and only time in my life, I saw my Dad crying. Billy's heart had lost the battle. After a few minutes, I went out into the hall and talked to the staff. who were all crying too. I told them how great of a job they had done, and thanked them for all of their help, and well wishes. They were the most professional people I have ever met in my life. They asked if they could perform an autopsy on Billy, a decision my Parents were in no shape to make, and I agreed, hoping that what they learned from Billy would help the next burn victim.

My Parents are both gone now, passing away in the past 15 months. They are again with Billy, something I reminded my Dad about when he was on his death bed. So I guess I am left to tell his story. His determination to battle in the hospital, against all odds, for 10 weeks was truly remarkable. He so wanted to live, despite his appearance. I guess life is pretty valuable. The kindness of all of the people around us has never been lost on me. 34 years later, I still need to say thank you. But most of all, I guess I never want my big Brother's inspiration to be forgotten. If you ever think about taking your own life, think about how hard he fought to keep his. The pain and suffering he endured was unimaginable, but he kept on trying. If you think that other's don't care about you, remember Billy's story. People care, they are just too busy to show it most of the time. It takes a tragedy to bring out the good in most people, as we all saw on 9/11. Billy, just an average kid from a small town, will always live as a shining example to me, and I'm glad I finally shared his story. Thanks for reading about him, he would have hated that.