16 hours in a car gives one lots of time to think especially if you’re the driver.  Our little family had to take an unexpected trip to the Bluegrass State this week to say farewell to the boss’s grandfather.  While his passing was not unexpected, the sense of finality that comes with that phone call is jarring and even harder to explain to your children.  We left Raleigh on Tuesday and arrived in Lexington on Wednesday morning.  Boompa’s first words to me, many years ago, were “Welcome to the Bluegrass”.  I wouldn’t hear those again.  For this trip, my role in the days to come was to be a taxi service for children and any family member that might need transport anywhere in town.  I realize that this might not sound like a huge contribution to make, but if you have ever driven in Lexington, you’ll realize that this is the equivalent of attempting to drive from North Carolina to England.  In fact, that might be easier and less time consuming than traversing 5 miles on Man O’ War Blvd.  Also, I was asked to serve as a pall bearer which is an important task and honestly maybe the one thing I ever did for a man that did so much for so many.

In full disclosure, I have never been keen on all of my trips to Lexington and there were lots of them over the past 18 years.  I balked over the drive, I didn’t like staying in a home where the temperature never dropped below 90, the gray skies were depressing, and in case I forgot- I didn’t like the drive.  What I did recognize, particularly after having children, was how important to the boss it was to go visit her Boompa and the rest of the clan.  While there lots of things I didn’t really like about going, seeing her family was not one of those things.  They are good people, even though they think that Kentucky basketball is on plane high above my beloved Tar Heels.  I have found that this is a subject best not discussed.  Each trip allowed the boss to spend time at the kitchen table talking with her grandfather about so many things.  Often, my mother-in-law (Mother Superior) would be there, in addition to any number of other grandchildren, and Lucy was there too.  They asked him questions about his homeplace, the war, whatever.  Nothing seemed to obscure to ask.  Once he had had enough though, he’d go take a nap.  I never went in there and listened.  I should have.

On this trip the first time we saw everyone was at the visitation on Wednesday night.  It went as those things do and then the family gathered back at the hotel for a bit of storytelling.  Thursday was the funeral.  We met back up at the funeral home around 10 for one last viewing of the body.  I think I spent more time this trip looking at Boompa that I have looked at him combined over the years.  I think it is because he couldn’t stare back.  When he looked at me, it was like Mother Superior staring at me.  It frightens me.  I was there when Lucy touched his hand one last time.  And then it was time for the service.  The boss’s uncle told tales of his dad and spoke for the children.  Mother Superior talked of his love and pride in his grandchildren.  This time, I listened.  One final car ride (police escort=no traffic) through Lexington and we said goodbye.  The family gathered back at our hotel where more stories were told, and even though many were repeats, they are still good.  We laughed for hours until it was time for bed.

Back to the drive home.  I’m glad I listened at the funeral.  The thought that kept popping in my head was the realization of how many things had to happen for me to be in that car on that day.  Boompa had to be encouraged to leave the hills of Kentucky as a boy of 14, alone, to start a new life at Berea.  He had to survive World War II, earning 6 Bronze Stars along the way.  He had to survive malaria.  He married, he had kids-one of whom moved to North Carolina and met a guy who had a father who also survived the War.  They had to have a kid and move to Sanford for me to meet as a 9th grader.  I had to have grandparents who survived concentration camps in Europe and then at the last second receive permission to immigrate to the US.  All of these things and more for me to be there.  Boompa touched thousands in a life begun in such humble surroundings.  But listening and thinking as I did this time, being humble seemed to be his way.  He never bragged about his war record, his unimaginable bravery, or Kentucky basketball.

His pride was in his grandchildren and, as Mother Superior noted, how all of them are helping others.  He would want it that way I think.  I thought on the ride home how I should have gone into that kitchen either at Winn Way or on Tishoff more often.  Or at all.  I missed a good chance to learn lots of things from a man who was of a different time and place.  Sadly, we are losing people like him too often these days.  While I can’t ever be back there and hear those stories, I am glad the boss and our kids did hear them.  I don’t have any pearls of wisdom that he imparted on me to conclude, I just have the emptiness of knowing I didn’t try hard enough to listen.