Where the Streets Have No Name

I just saw the trailer for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.  First, what rock have I been under that I missed this novel?  Second, I cannot wait to see how this story unfolds. 

A lot of things are making me think about my papa lately, and this movie definitely did.  It's just starting to really sink in that he's not going to be there the next time I go home for a visit, and that I won't be able to call him after Big Blue Madness to talk about the new freshman class of Cats.  But my goodness, didn't we have a full life of love with him? When so many people have their time with loved ones cut short, I certainly have nothing to complain about. 

I'm wishing that I knew more about papa, that I knew more about what he thought about the world around him. It's hard to imagine how much the world changed over the course of his life, but I'm not sure I ever  really knew his perception of it all.  Of course, that was also just papa.  Nothing truly got to him, bothered him, got him riled up or upset.  Couldn't we all use a dose of his temperment and peacefulness! 

I'm so grateful that his cancer was not long-suffering.  I'm trying to forget the difficult memories of his sickness, and cling to the last good day I had with him. 

I left work a little early to take a quick evening trip to Somerset to visit.  It was a few days after his brain surgery and he was doing really good.  When I arrived, everyone was out of his room and the curtains were closed.  I was worried... but he was just getting ready to go for his evening lap around the hospital floor.  That's right--this man who had just had brain surgery days before was up and walking around!

His cheeks were pink and his face was warm with his usual smile when he came out of his room with the nurse.  "Well Amos, what are you doing here?" he asked.  "I'll be back in a minute," he said.

A second nurse came to grab his arm, but my mom suggested that I walk with him.

"Come on papa, let's go to the prom," I said, hooking my elbow with his. 

"Now, it's been a while since I've done any dancing," he replied.

We started the lap around the hospital floor and he took off like he was walking for real exercise and not just for post-op therapy! 

"My Amos is teaching at Georgetown," he told the nurse.  Well, he told her twice actually... but that was just the brain tumor.  Nothing was going to stop how proud he was of his girls and nothing made me happier to hear him say.

He flirted with all the nurses as we walked by, and told me several times how wonderful they all were. I wish he could have stayed on that floor the whole time he was sick.  He felt safe there and they were SO good to him.  I think they liked being around him even more than he liked them!

After our little walk, I hung out in his room while he took a nap--or faked taking a nap, that is.  Mom whispered that the whole day, he would NOT shut up.  He'd close his eyes, and we'd go on talking, only to catch him smiling or chuckling at something we said.  Sometimes he'd scare the daylights out of us by suddenly chiming into a conversation when we thought he was long asleep.  I left that day when he was finally dosing off, but that smile was still on his face.  I don't know if he was really asleep or not.

He was wearing that same smile the day we buried him.

It's a tough time of year because this is when papa would normally started getting fired up for basketball season.  It's been really hard on my mom, but I'm trying really hard to imagine the questions papa has already peppered Adolf Rupp, Bill Keightley, and Cawood Ledford with up in heaven.  Something tells me him and Whiter have front row season tickets to all the games this year. 

And while papaw was the most humble Christian man I will ever know, I certainly hope the Good Lord cheers for the Cats.  Papa would certainly hate to cheer against God if he's Tennessee fan...