In Remembrance of my oldest brother, Wayane Andrew Marshall, Happy B-day, Big Brother...
My brother Alfredo Jarrell, my Grandmother Mrs. Katherine Johnson,
Me, Yolanda Eileen, in her lap and my oldest brother, Wayane Andrew.
Today would be Wayane's 50th birthday. He passed away at age 40 a few weeks before Christmas of December 2001.
He taught me how to clean the kitchen, love all comic book characters and tear apart any electronic device. He was a master at putting computers together, always tinkering with something. I don't remember him ever owning a car but always having the baddest 10-speed bicycle out.
My brother was born with sickle cell. I can't imagine the many times my mother heard doctors say, "He's not going to make it," when he had a crisis related to the disease. My Mother, a strong praying woman, was always faithful and never showed fear. In fact, I don't ever remember knowing how serious Wayane's illnesses were. Mother kept our home at peace through it all. When he was bed ridden once, when I was around 7 years old, that's when he showed me the entire X-Men comic book series. He never called me Yolanda, only by my middle name, Eileen. I would sit on the floor of him and Fredo's room going through those hundreds of comic books for hours. Now I realize that he was probably in immense pain and passed out on pain medications when I'd thought he'd fell asleep while telling me about something. *(I learned later from my daughter, Jasmine, that he shared with her the same love for comics and electronics as he did me.)
I remember a few years later, when I was around 10 years old, having an altercation with some bully at the ball field down the street from our house on 12th street. I had this pitbull mutt my Great-Grandmother, Lilian Houston, had given me named Butch. Being that I was 6 and 10 years younger than my brothers and the only girl, Butch was my playmate and went everywhere I went. That day was crazy. This boy was being mean to me for no reason and Butch tried to bite him. Well, that didn't go good as the boy kicked my dog and spit on me when I tried to kick him back. I ran home telling my big brothers. Wayane went down to that ball park and straight gave that boy the business. My other brother Alfredo came, too with one of his friends. We were all going to fight that boy and his friends, my dog and all. In fear, the boy cut Wayane with a little knife. It wasn't major but word got out in the neighborhood not to mess with that little girl with the dog. Her and her brothers are from New York and she got this crazy dog that fights for her. I'll never forget that. I have no idea how Mother found out as she was working and going to school at the time and the boys were supposed to be watching me. I think Wayane got punished since he was the oldest and Fredo got it, too, cause he was the street smart one and should have known better.
My mother was my Grandmother's first child. Naturally, we were my Grandmother's first grandchildren and we were well taken care of. My mother worked two jobs while we were in Brooklyn where all of us were born. She was a seamstress and a house keeper. Mom was always in good with Puerto Ricans, thus our names, Alfredo & Yolanda. My Grandmother is from Austin while my Grandfather was from Brooklyn. Grandfather was in the Air Force and had been stationed in Japan while my mother decided at 18 not to go overseas and was staying with Grandfather's people in Brooklyn.
My Mother ended up back in Texas due to there being the best doctors available for Wayane, I think. That may not be the total reason but I'm almost sure it played a big part of it. I remember Wayane's last crisis back in 2001 and my visit with him at Seton Northwest here in Austin. I had to wear protective clothing since he was in ICU. I prayed every scripture I knew about healing, walking in wholeness and being filled with peace as he laid in and out of consciousness. At one point, Wayane came to and told me how proud he was of me and how my life had turned around. He told me to stay in church and never let anything distract me from Christ's love. He told me to give my daughter Jasmine all the time I could and how he wished he could have had children of his own.
After leaving his room at ICU, while walking through the hospital's entrance foyer, I felt the spirits of grief, dread, fear and despair like I've never felt them before. They hit me with such force that I could literally recall the exact spot where my steps tread into their existence. I stopped right in my tracks and prayed for those spirits to cease oppressing people. I left when I felt the atmosphere in that area lighten up. When I got to my car, I knew that would be the last time I would speak to my loving, big brother.
I spoke to my Auntie Dianne about my prayers and that awful oppressive foyer and she taught me a valuable lesson about healing. She reminded me that all of Wayane's life, he has been in chronic pain and the threat of death has loomed over him continuously. She said that death, too, can bring Wayane to healing, peace; where he would feel no more pain. I accepted her wisdom and prayed differently. This time for an ease into transition of life for him. A week later, Wayane was released from the hospital and sent home where my daughter and I visited him often to check on him. Another week after that and I got the call that he was back in the hospital with heart valve failure due to the sickle cell.
Mom, my brother and I stood attentively while the cardiologist explained how the disease was killing my brother. How the little heart valve gadget was failing and how there was nothing else they could do. A few moments afterwards, we were called into his ICU room to say goodbye. He was finally healed after 40 years of pain. He looked so peaceful. I thanked God for my Auntie's wisdom as I accepted that my prayers for his peace transition was answered.
Today, I woke up holding my second child and thinking of how he would have smiled at her but then how he is smiling down on us all...happy birthday, Wayane, you are truly missed!
