It was very cold and “Pup”was barking down in the basement. Momma and Dad were talking in the kitchen. I was resting on Papa’s lap and listening to every word. He was hard of hearing, so they had to talk real loud to include him in the conversation. It was warm in the kitchen because Papa was holding me. I wondered if “Pup” was warm too.

Papa wore glasses and he wore a large black hat. I remember that he was humming some private melody that only he knew. i wondered why gray hairs grew in his ears. (Recently, Joanne and Gerard have questioned me as to why hair grows in my ears, although, mine is not gray – not yet). Papa lived with us. Uncle Hunter and Aunt Arlene lived upstairs. Everybody was nearby and everything was alright.

The discussion in the kitchen may well have been about the planned trip to Due West. Who was to go – who was to drive – and who was to stay behind. It turned out to be a tragic trip that involved bad weather, icy roads and a tanker-truck. A very bad accident. I was to stay behind. Papa did not return to live with us anymore, but I still have one warm memory of him.

Sometimes, details tend to fade when recalling events from over 35 years. Sometimes a five-year-old uses an imagination to provide color and flavor to those events. In any case, the essence of that kitchen memory remains. Maybe he wasn’t really gone. Maybe he just stayed in Due West for a while longer. May he is still there – today. Maybe….

In one of our many secret conversations, down in the basement, “Pup” told me that he remembered Papa too.