The Trip of a Lifetime

I was five the year my grandfather died. I understood the reason for death, but not the consequences of how it affects others. My grandmother almost grieved herself to death and I think my mother was frightened and shocked when she realized a person can actually do that. She would have done anything, promised anything, I believe, to stop that from happening. In fact she did and that led to the trip of a lifetime for me.

Pa Pa had been gone seven years when Nanny told my parents she wanted to go to the Baseball Hall of Fame before she died. My Aunt Mary, Nanny's twin sister had long since come to live with Nanny who was still in the throws of grief.. Momma and Daddy agreed immediately and began to plan a trip to Cooperstown the next summer. Momma decided they would fulfill several of Nanny's dreams in one fell swoop so she got tickets to see the Cincinnati Reds play since Nanny was an avid fan of the Big Red Machine. She had a special affinity for Pete Rose who was both playing and managing at the time. Momma's next plan included tickets to the Grand Ole Opry and the Football Hall of Fame was thrown in as a bonus. A few weeks before the trip Daddy bought a new Suburban and a pop up camper. I don't recall all the preparation, but I remember the air of excitement that permeated all of us.

The morning we left Cleveland, Texas we were quite a little troop. There was Daddy, Momma, Nanny, Aunt Mary, my brother Larry, my cousin Glenn, and me. Larry made himself a comfortable bed in the very back of the Suburban, and the rest of us paired up two per seat.

The first stop on our journey was Nashville, Tennessee. Nanny had never been out of Texas and every mile gave her a new wonder to file away in her memory bank. Amid the excitement everyone missed the omen that this might be a less than perfect vacation. Momma had had banding surgery for weight loss a few weeks before and was having a few complications. Only a couple of hours into the trip Daddy had to get her a large cup, because she vomited almost constantly. Oh, not loudly, but like a baby with a chronic case of spitting up. Perhaps if she had been loud we wouldn't have missed the signs.