Just one more day

As a boy of 6 years old I remember getting up at 6 AM and walking with my Papa to his cafe in town. He fed me breakfast and I went to school.

One morning everything was covered with ice. As we walked Papa held my hand because I was slipping and sliding, but he walked steadily without falling. I remember, too, how unafraid and proud I was that this big strong man was my Papa.

As I grew older that feeling never left me, but sadly, the need for him to hold my hand became less important. I graduated from high school when I was sixteen and left home for college.

In November of 1944 Papa had a stroke. It partially paralyzed his right side and he could hardly say a word, so his working days were over.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Papa had always been there for me and I suppose in my teenage mind I thought he would recover and be like always.

When I turned 18 I joined the navy. After discharge I went directly back to college. Papa told me many times his desire was for me to graduate from college and, in my mind, getting back in school was most important so I did not even go see Mama and Papa.

Why am I saying all this?

Because on June 1, 1946 I received a call from my brother that Papa was dying and asking for me. I got on a bus and got home about 1 AM on June 2nd. Papa died about 30 minutes before I got home.

I am 86 now and for 66 years I have regreted not having JUST ONE MORE DAY with my Papa.

As you read this you can probably recall one or more similar events in your life, and wish you had had JUST ONE MORE DAY or maybe just an hour.

As for me I hereby resolve to do my best to have no more regrets because I did not have JUST ONE MORE DAY .

BJ Melton

July 5, 2012