Wormy - Another He Said, She Said

The two of them came through the back slider that led into our kitchen late one evening. 

My mom and I were still up but we weren't expecting them since they normally were either crashed out in the trailer in our back yard by then or they were out gallivanting around up to no good. 

Since the first one through the door was stifling a laugh behind his hand, neither of us was concerned. Following closely behind however, was his good friend holding some type of rag to his forehead that was obviously drenched with the blood pouring from his scalp and not stopping anytime soon. 

Time seemed to speed up when it was obvious one of these two young and dumb 20 something boys had just encountered a blow to his head that seemed fairly serious. 

It took about five minutes for my laughing brother to explain exactly how one of his best buddies ended up with his head bashed in when they had been doing nothing more than watching TV in my brother's trailer that he lived in during his early adult years. 

Wormy had been a fixture at our house for years. I don't remember when he first showed up, but both of my brothers always seemed to attract several friends who either didn't have any parents in their lives or whose parents just didn't seem to care. 

We never knew who we might find sleeping on our great room floor come Saturday morning. Whoever it might be I think every one of of them today will tell you they considered my mom and dad their parents. When dad was dying 22 years ago, several of them showed up one afternoon and gathered around the bed with dad reminiscing about old times until one by one I could see them leaving the room and finding some private spot to shed their tears. 

Wormy's real name was Ramey. But all his buddies and my family called him Wormy. My dad refused to use his nickname telling my mom that Ramey didn't like being called Wormy. 

Sometimes I wonder why some kids are never cut a break. Ramey's mother was absent, he spent most of his childhood being raised by his grandmother. I really never knew the whole story. I do remember that when his grandmother passed away she left Ramey and his brother $1,000 a piece. Even back in the 70's that wasn't a lot of money, but Ramey's mother was such a bitch (sorry but there isn't a better word for her) that she sued him for it. 

He was a bit of a squirrelly looking character. Short. Skinny. A bit of a Barney Fife but without a sense of arrogance and sadly without much of an innate sense of what was the right path and what was the wrong path. 

Of course hanging around with my brother back in the 70's wasn't going to lead him down the right path back then either. 

The night my brother and Wormy came through our slider, we were used to some crazy stuff from those boys, but knowing they were both safely at home in our backyard we could not have imagined how Ramey ended up with a couple of huge visible dents in his forehead which were bleeding all over my parent's kitchen. 

Finally my brother stopped laughing long enough to explain that he and his buddy were laying down on opposite couches in the trailer quietly watching TV.  From the corner of his eye, Mark saw a mouse begin to run across the room. From his (I'm assuming here) not quite sober state, my Einstein brother picked up a small dumbbell laying next to his couch and heaved it at the mouse as hard as he could. 

The Redneck D-Con didn't hit its intended target, but instead landed a direct hit on Ramey's head. 

This was back in the days of my brother's wildest years. So I will not even attempt to persuade you that there were not numerous fights that broke out in the trailer between the friends. But that night what my brother found so funny was that it was a quiet night and so poor Ramey was completely blindsided as to why his best buddy would hurl a heavy dumbbell at his head attempting to seemingly kill him. 

When my mom and I looked underneath the bloody rag on Wormy's head we saw a couple of severely dented places with blood pouring out of them. 

While my dad slept through the whole event, the four of us loaded up in the car and made our way to the closest ER at the local hospital that was only slightly better than a vet's office. I take that back, no need to insult a vet clinic. 

The waiting room wasn't crowded as we approached the ER desk. I stood with Wormy as he answered the lady's questions. Even I had to stifle a giggle when Ramey explained how he lost his balance and fell against the edge of a kitchen cabinet door.   I have no idea when he concocted that story and I doubt the woman believed it, but she continued with question after question while ignoring the fact the he was losing blood and was becoming dizzy. 

I finally had enough and told her he needed to sit down.  Only then did they bother to actually get him a wheelchair to sit in while he continued to hold the blood soaked towel against his head. 

Although the amateur ER managed to not kill him, I am still angry that they were not crowded yet practically ignored someone with some what could have been a serious head trauma. 

There where other stories too. Crazy ones. Like the night when my parents were out of town and Mark and Wormy came into the house looking for trouble. I was there with my then boyfriend (lets refer to him as X) soon to be ex-husband when they entered and it began to be apparent at least more than one of these boys was looking for a fight. 

I remember being angry. Becoming very angry. It was a battle of the egos and I won't defend one of these boys over the other. Mainly because I could then and now see that nothing good was going to become of the situation and all three of them had some serious issues that I would not and could not ever fix. 

For the four or five of my regular readers might have figured out by now, my brother and I are extremely close.   That wasn't always the case.  It took me 13 years to figure out why Mark hated me. It took him a little longer. And the reason had nothing to do with either one of us. 

So that night I tried to get either Mark and Wormy to leave or get the idiot X to leave in the car with me. 

I was not successful in either case.  So I left the three idiots there and took a drive.  When I returned, my brother and Ramey were gone and X, who was no small guy, had obviously taken a couple of blows to the face. 

Later Mark told me that Ramey and X were arguing and Ramey was standing over him. Now imagine Barney, drunk of course standing over a guy that outweighed him by 50 pounds and stood a good half foot taller.  When Wormy was drinking which was quite often, he was 6'3" and bullet proof, or so he thought. 

When X wouldn't take the bait, that didn't stop Wormy from throwing a couple of punches to X's face.  Mark was wise enough (cough, cough) to step in between the sitting X and Wormy before X stood up. In reality X was actually probably too much of a wimp to do anything anyway,but that's another story we don't need to tell. 

A few days later the subject came up in front of my parents and I remember letting my brother have it. I screamed. I yelled. I told him he had no business coming in the house starting trouble. 

But what I remember the most was finally saying what I had believed for 20 years. That he hated me.  I had believed that one of my brothers actually despised me. 

Which I have always believed was the exact moment my relationship with my brother changed. Maybe he didn't know that I had believed that or maybe because I had finally spoken something that struck him in the heart enough to penetrate that fake rough exterior.  

In either case I do not recall any minute in the last 30 some years after that time where we didn't have each other's back.   As odd as it may sound, I credit that last fight and my harsh words to have slapped him into realizing he didn't actually hate me at all and he shouldn't be acting like he did. 

But I digress(ed). A lot. 

Maybe that's why while writing this I am having such a hard time accepting the news I found out a few Sunday's ago

As is the case in a lot of childhood friendships, Mark and Wormy hadn't seen each other in a couple years. The week prior Mark stopped by Ramey's house to catch up but didn't find him home. 

Some of the old buddies finally tracked Mark down since he is living with our other brother. 

They told him that Ramey had been in the hospital for a few weeks. He had an extremely rare condition called Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease.  It's comparable to Mad Cows disease and is fatal within just a few months. 

Mark went to the hospital on that Sunday with a few of the old buddies who somehow managed to either not end their crazy younger years in jail or dead.  Only the Good Lord knows how. 

Apparently Ramey had not been responsive for several days, but upon hearing Mark say, "Hey Wormy, it's Mad Dog" Ramey responded. The hard ass young guys now balding and aging all began to reminisce about their crazy youthful days, even singing old songs they loved, Ramey included.  

Ramey's awareness lasted long enough for the old guys to spend some precious moments together. 

When my brother posted on Facebook some prayer requests for Wormy on Sunday I was stunned. I called him and we made arrangement to go the hospital on Monday. 

I guess I was hoping we could get a few minutes of lucidness from this boy who spent so many days at my parents house and who loved my mom and dad because they both loved  him more than his own neglectful parents. 

What I found instead was a withered old man, eyes filled with gel because the disease has blinded him and he does not close his eyes even while sleeping. 

I suppose it's a blessing that the disease progresses extremely fast. 

I only wish that I could as quickly find a legitimate reason why some people seem to be destined to never get a break in life. 

I wish I could know that Wormy had some years or some months or even some weeks of happiness in his life. 

Sadly I don't think he ever did. Hopefully he has found some peace in the next life. I pray that's true. 

Ramey passed away early Monday morning just a couple weeks after my brother's visit.  Since I was of town, I was unable to attend the service. It's been fairly tough for my brother, just a few months after helping our cousin during his last days and now his best buddy. 

Prayers are always appreciated.