Jimmy Deckler

Jimmy Deckler has been on my mind for the better part of this week. I keep wondering what it is he wants me to say. I only know what I know about Jimmy and not much more. However, I am learning that the little bit we do know about others is quite significant.

Even though I lived on top of a hill we had a cul-de-sac near us. This was a wonderful thing because it gave us another avenue of safe play. On the cul-de-sac or court as we called it, among the families that resided there, lived the Decklers. I know there was Linda, Debbie and Jimmy. There could have been more siblings but I don't remember since it has been well over 30 years. I knew Linda and Debbie as they were our babysitters. Debbie more than Linda. I believe Linda was the oldest of the three, however, I don't know if Jimmy was younger than Debbie or not. I just knew they were all older than myself.

 I don't really remember Jimmy's face. I remember a tall, brown-haired teenage/college age boy or man.  He seemed closer to a man than a boy. I remember him shirtless and in shorts. However, that is the fleeting memory I have of Jimmy.  You see, Jimmy had cancer. I don't know what kind of cancer, I just knew he was asleep a lot or in bed. My brief memory of him was in summer. Maybe he came to the door when we came to their house one day. Were we selling something? I don't remember. Just shirtless and in shorts. That's my memory of Jimmy.

Later, while Jimmy was ill and in bed,  his family had a garage sale. Our neighborhood did a yearly garage sale so there were people all over. I remember being in their garage and seeing a boy's lunch box. I stared at it. I was pretty young and I knew that the lunch box had to have been Jimmy's. I didn't understand but the lunch box bothered me. I didn't want to go near it. Did the lunch box contain cancer? By touching it could he have received cancer or could someone catch cancer from it? I didn't know and I wasn't about to find out. I just kept looking around to assess the other items that might have belonged to Jimmy wondering the same thing. Cancer seemed scary and unknown and it was the only thing I really knew about Jimmy.

I don't know how much more time passed but Jimmy eventually passed away. I never knew what kind of cancer he had. I do remember his sister Debbie not talking about him. Not that I asked about him, of course. I was just wondering if she would ever talk about him. Probably not to the kids she babysat. Jimmy just seemed to slip into the memories I have of the 1970s.

The Decklers moved away and I don't know where they went. I will always remember them. The parents, Debbie, Linda and for a fleeting moment Jimmy. I think about the Decklers and wonder if the parents are still living. I wonder if Debbie and Linda think about Jimmy. I would think so because I think about my brother. However, my brother has only been gone 6 years. Jimmy has been gone several life times.

As I sit here I wonder what Jimmy was really like and how interesting it is that a small girl remembers him around 35 yrs later.  I wonder if anyone remembers me from a fleeting moment in my history? How is it that 35 years later Jimmy has me thinking about him. I wonder what he thought as he laid in bed getting sicker? I think of my mother in her similar circumstance. Does one think about their fate? Is a person so tired that they just set their mind to sleep and reserving their strength? What would one dream about? Could it be that life at this point is a reverse nightmare? As I call it a "lifemare". A dream feels pretty good but when you wake up, your life is way worse than you imagine it. I don't know. I'm not there but I wish I could talk to Jimmy. It would be great to know more about him. More than the fleeting moment I had.

Can each of our moments be significant not only to ourselves but others? I believe this is true because I remember people in fleeting moments that I will never know again. And others still that have been gone so many years that mean the world to me. My Uncle Curt who use to call Snowball, my Nana's dog, through an empty, cardboard toilet roll and drive the dog mad. He's been gone since March 17th, 1976. He died at the age of 28, five days after my brother Brett was born. Brett died also at age 28 in 2005. I hope people remember them. I hope I am remembered.

As I think about my memory of Jimmy I realize that what we do, even those things that seem so insignificant, have great meaning perhaps to someone else. How we communicate, our intentions and our actions speak volumes about who we are. When you are abrupt will you be forever judged by a person that doesn't know you? Even things that you have no control over make an impact, like cancer.  We are human, however. We cannot be perfect every day. Things get the best of us in our words and actions. Sometimes random people witness this and you wonder if they think you are really like that all the time. As I think about this I realize that I have to be in two states of mind: cognizant that people are watching my actions and deeds and also I am watching other's actions and deeds. If this is the case, am I forever going to judge someone on their actions and deeds when I don't know them but for one fleeting moment? I want to be fair just like I want someone to be fair to me.

I think the crux of the matter is to remember that a moment is just that: a moment that leads to the next. Is a moment the sum of all things? Was Jimmy just cancer? Of course not. He was a human with the totality of all the moments he experienced. The sum of those moments are representive of Jimmy's life. Even Jimmy's life of moments still don't totally define Jimmy. Defining Jimmy is not my job. Unfortunately, he was put in a box of representation by my child's brain. I am basing that on my interpretation of the few moments spent with Jimmy. His interpretation and experience might have been far different than mine. It was for me to learn something from Jimmy, even if fleeting. Knowing this, as an adult, I can't judge.  I can only be grateful for Jimmy and what I do remember.