I sat on the front row waiting for the miracle to happen! I could imagine the crying, the tears of happiness, people passing out from the shock! LOL! I was almost giddy. It was going to be a great and glorious day. I waited in quiet expectation of everyone’s reaction. No one knew what I had prayed for, except me and God. I don’t remember the exact date, but I think it was around July 7, 1977 and I was eleven years old.
I was at the Hall and Taylor funeral home on Main Street in Shelbyville, Ky. It had become the family funeral home of choice. I was very familiar with this place. It was a grand old home…still is.
The past six months or so had been rough. Especially for mom. I knew, even at eleven years of age, that if this miracle didn’t happen it would be the beginning of a downward spiral. No. The spiral had already begun, but without a miracle, it would pick up speed.
My grandpa, Bubber, as we called him was diagnosed with lung cancer in November of 1976. My mom was an only child and she wanted the best for her Daddy. But, oh how she wished she had siblings to help her with decisions. She didn’t want him to have surgery in Shelbyville with “country doctors”. They went to a specialist in Louisville, Ky. He had surgery in February of 1977.

That’s when the nightmare began. The specialist removed the WRONG LUNG! He removed the healthy lung. It’s hard for me to imagine everything that must have gone on in that operating room. Why didn’t nurses say anything? Apparently, the specialist hung up the x-ray backwards. Now, in today’s world, when you go in for surgery, your body is marked where it will take place and you have to initial the spot. The x-ray is marked with your name and other information. That wasn’t the case back then. I still can’t get past the fact that when the doctor opened him up and saw a healthy lung, why did he continue? Not only that, he took out the ENTIRE lung, not just a lobe. Mom blamed herself. If she hadn’t insisted that he see a specialist none of that would have happened. The guilt was a LOT to deal with. She couldn’t forgive herself. Bubber never blamed her. Not once.
When Bubber could no longer take care of himself, he moved in with us. Mom rented a hospital bed and placed it in the living room. Around the first of July, I woke up one morning to find Bubber asleep on the couch! He hadn’t been able to get out of bed for quite a while. I was so excited. I thought he was better. The afternoon of July 4, mom told me to go to her bedroom and not come out. I heard her yell outside for dad, who was busy working on his race car. I could tell by her voice it was an emergency. At some point she told me to get in the car. I remember dad drove to the Salem hospital. I sat up front. Mom and Bubber were in the back seat. She was holding him. He had both hands on the back of the front seat staring straight ahead like he was willing himself to hold on and not die in the car in front of all of us. He was rushed right inside the hospital. I sat out in the waiting room. A lot of time passed, an hour or maybe two. I saw Alene come into the hospital. She was his sister and lived in Shelbyville. To my knowledge, until that evening, she had never been to Salem. I knew this was serious. Then Granny showed up to drive me home. She lived near St. Matthews at that time. She was mom’s mom. Bubber was her first husband.
On July 4, 1977 Bubber passed away. So, there I sat. I’m not sure how long I sat, watching and waiting for even the tiniest movement. I waited in eager expectation for the miracle I prayed for to happen. I sat on the front row, just staring at Bubber in the casket. I was waiting for him to move, to wake up, to rise up, ANYTHING. I had the faith of a child, the faith of a mustard seed. God said no. Maybe because a miracle of that magnitude would have reached the news around the world and the timing wasn’t right for that to happen. Maybe this was a journey we all had to get through, hopefully relying on Him to see us through. For whatever reason, even though the miracle didn’t happen, it didn’t compromise my faith. I never quit believing in God.
***Mom and Bubber had filed a lawsuit. Mom continued with the case after Bubber’s death. The specialist lost his practice and license in Kentucky. He moved to another state and started over. Mom “won” $10,000. Not much now. Wasn’t much back then either. She bought him a lovely headstone. He’s buried at the Pleasureville, Kentucky cemetery.***

Please leave a comment or question. I’d love to hear from you. I will be adding more personal narratives as time allows. Thanks for reading!
One Response
Poor Mom. Poor Bubber. She was such a mess after he died.