Patch Blog: Country Gal/City Woman 'Billie Bailey...won't you please come home?'

It's 1:29 a.m. the morning of November 21, 2011.  Sadie is sound asleep in my bed, comfortable and snoring, too loudly for my personal comfort, so I am turning to my computer and this Blog to while away the hours until "Morning Joe" comes on at 3 a.m. 

(I take an occasional nap during the daytime, especially when there is a nice pattern of raindrops falling on my roof, so I can do "stuff 'n such" like this without suffering from the lack of the required number of hours of sleep for people my age...not to worry, okay?)

This Blog has been on my arcadia.patch.com "que" since August for the reason that I was having second thoughts about whether or not I wanted to submit it at all.  Would it be met by any reader with thoughts of "that's too personal, too sad, bad timing? ..all reasons that are "off-putting" by anyone wanting to share in a "blogging way." 

Sadie's snoring put an end to that kind of reasoning; and, yes, perhaps sharing this Blog is all of the above and more.  I will fall back on the vagarities that go along with being sentimental, nostalgic and growing older:  I owe this to the memory of Billie Bailey, perhaps that is the best reason of all!

For purposes of this story, forget everything about this popular song of the 30's...except for the title....you will know why I make this unusual request when you have read Billie's poignant story.

Billie Bailey was 14 years old and a beautiful dark-haired teenager during the late 1930's. She and her widowed Mom lived about two blocks from 210 Birch on Cedar Street; and we happily shared the good life of a small town community. She had a "crush" on my brother, Ken, and I was the beneficiary of that "crush" being the younger sister of a really cute neighbor boy.

Together, we joined others in listening to the Music of the Era played during the Band Concerts in the city park, splashed in the refreshing waters of the Sunnyside Park swimming pool, ate table-loads of food at the neighborhood picnics, childishly searched for that proverbial pot-of-gold at the end of the rainbow that occasionally followed a summer's shower of rain, played our hearts out during the pick-up softball games in Talty's Pasture and, the most fun of all, playing with the boys and girls who lived in Buck Town (loose term for our section of town where money was scarcer than hen's teeth!) after supper and before it got too dark to scamper around safely when we played Run-Sheep-Run, Red Light/Green Light and the countless other childhood games that brought good pals together until the Moms on the block, as one voice, called us to "get in here (meaning house) and I mean NOW!" Reluctantly, off we scattered, one calling to one another, "See ya tomorrow!"

Billie was an important part of those Buck Town Buddies, not a ring-leader but a loyal participator in all the goings-on of that lively neighborhood.

I will never forget the day that her status changed to "Angel." Alone and while preparing breakfast for herself one summer morning, the sleeve of her cotton robe caught fire. The burns my young friend suffered were extensive; and it was at the hospital that my Mom and I spent afternoons at her bedside while her body tried to heal itself...and failed.

Billie's love for Jesus was the talk of the hospital wards and the hospital staff. Though weak, her sweet voice was lifted in songs of praise and adoration even as she lay dying. At the age of eleven, my feeble and selfish prayer was for my childhood buddy to get well so we could get on with the good times, grow up and be promised friends forever. At the age of 14, Billie was healed in the Presence of Jesus, Her dearest Friend and Comforter.

Childish thoughts of pots of gold now put aside, when I see a rainbow today, my thoughts turn to Billie and I smile, because I am assured The Rainbow that follows The Storm is God's Promise...nothing less. Billie Bailey has come Home...

CG/CW