Chapter Two: Homeward Bound

I can remember almost all of the commutes from our small town to Nashville in the early morning hours for check-ups and, eventually, weekly treatments. Even at the darkest point in coping with his sickness, that one-hour drive south represented something we continuously strived for: hope.

As we packed our bags and got my father ready to be transported home, we took our time and lingered in the hospital room. Leaving for home almost seemed like giving up and my mom and I dreaded facing the one-hour of silence separating the tiny flicker of hope from the gloom and doom associated with death.

As we pulled into the drive of our suburban home, we were met by a welcome wagon of friends and family, hoping to see my father one last time. After setting up his hospital bed in the guest room, everyone gathered inside to talk and reminisce. I made my way through the crowd to find the only person I cared to talk to after such an emotionally devastating trip. My grandfather, who I referred to as “papaw”, waited alone in the living room, rocking and thinking. I’d always been extremely close to him growing up and he remained an important part of my life.

Papaw smiled as I approached. “Hey there Toodlebug, sit down beside me.” He’d called me Toodlebug my entire life and it always brought back happy memories of my blissful childhood, where I spent most of my afternoons waiting for my mom to get off work.

“Don’t look so sad! You and your momma are made out of tough stuff and you’re both gonna be alright.” At sixty-eight years old, after surviving a tragic factory accident and a heartbreaking adulterous marriage, he had proven himself to be tough as well.

“I know Papaw,” I said, trying to keep the tears from overflowing. I knew I needed to keep up appearances and save the breakdown for later. “It’s just not fair! There are deadbeats and lowlifes all over the planet and they probably live to be ninety-eight! Why does he have to be the one dying?”

Papaw had raised my mom and her brother, Allen, in a Christian home and those values were passed along to me. Even through my toughest days, I had never lost faith. It was during this day, however, that the bitterness scorched through me like a burning flame and questions that I never asked before ran through my mind. Perhaps my Papaw could sense this or read it on my face, and tried his best put those fires out and come up with the best answers.

“I know you’ve heard this a million times but, sometimes, bad things happen to good people,” Papaw said, gently. “Your father may have finally reached the point in his life that he’s ready to be with God. We don’t know what the outcome could be if he was to live out the years of his life. What would the outcome be if he lived to be seventy? Would he have destroyed his relationship with God? That would have been a much worse fate! It’s hard to accept, Tuddlebug, but you know that God sees the bigger picture.”    

Deep down, I knew he was right.  I understood that, in reality, we were insignificant in the bigger scheme of things.  At seventeen years old, however, I couldn’t shake off the emotional rollercoaster of the past five years or how the bitterness towards my father, the cancer and, worst, God, had bubbled up inside of me and hardened my heart.

As the guest began to say their goodbyes, I plastered a smile on my face and wondered to myself how odd it was for them to appear so calm and content, even though it was highly likely they would never see my father again. It was almost as if I expected to see physical evidence of the heartbreak and burden on their shoulders as they got into their cars to drive home to be reunited with their families.