Nikki Thomas

My regular doctor had prescribed some medicine for me for an unrelated thing and it made me so sick. I’d be so nauseous that I’d have to go get fresh air...walk it off...or even splash water on my face. That had been going on even when I was in Knoxville.

Aircheck had asked me to talk about my ACM trip to Vegas when we won in 2019. I’m sure there were people who thought it was funny or maybe even crass...but they asked what I thought or what was going through my head at that ceremony...and I think my answer was something to the effect of “I was trying not to throw up” or something like that. My stomach was on fire and I felt so dizzy. My face was all flushed and hot. I thought about going to the ER there in Vegas...but I was afraid I’d miss the reason I was there...to pick up the ACM for our station. I think it was win number seven for the station...as a PD it was my third...and it was still a pretty big deal. Honest to God, I didn’t want to let anyone down. I also wasn’t sure if it was food poisoning or something. When I got back to Knoxville, went to my doctor...they ran tests...gave me some medicine...and I thought that was the end of it. They still couldn’t figure out what was going on with me, though.

I left Knoxville and moved to the Tri Cities. Best decision I’ve made in years, by the way. I truly love these people. They’ve done a phenomenal job of protecting their product and their people and I believe that’s why this station is still so healthy when many other legendary stations have suffered. The stress level dropped substantially. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when the station and the people are a priority. Which by the way...XBQ has been so much like KAT Country. It’s been everything I love about radio and thought I’d never experience again. These people couldn’t be farther apart...yet be so much alike. It’s a good thing.

The main thing bothering me then...was my back and legs. Kept having some really nasty pain. The pain was so intense sometimes that it made me nauseous. My face was flushed...I had a fever...then I didn’t have one. Maybe it was my weight? I was getting up to pee a lot at night. Only sleeping one or two hours in a stretch. It was all these things that I never put together.

I wanted to get healthy. Told my doctor I wasn’t going to take that medicine that made me feel so bad...just in case that was the problem. My endocrinologist was cool with that. I started the keto diet. Actually...I did keto up until right before Thanksgiving.

I was so happy. My thyroid is absolutely hateful...so losing weight is the hardest thing to do it seems. On keto...I dropped over 30 pounds. Wow! I thought that was great!! Everything felt better. My energy levels were up. I’d get up at 4am and wouldn’t stop until 11pm...and everything was good...until my hip, back and legs started hurting again. It was so bad one morning that the guys I work with called chiropractors for me. It was awful.

The pain had never really stopped...but at a certain point you just get used to the pain and move on as best you can. That’s what I did up until a few weeks ago. If you know me, you know that I love Toys For Tots, St Jude, Second Harvest, etc. We were out with the marines working on Toys For Tots and I ended up having to miss one day because I hurt so bad. Now for me...that’s bad.

It never let up. I’ve just pushed through and tried to “suck it up” since then. That was a couple of weeks before Christmas. Y’all I seriously thought it might be psychosomatic. Maybe it was all in my head. If it hurt...I’d try to stretch or move and work it out of my body...but that NEVER worked.

So...I go back to the chiropractor. Those guys were so good to me. They can electrocute me anytime they want. (All hail the TENS unit!!) That seemed to be working...and then we had a little bit of a COVID scare at work...(everyone is okay, thank goodness). Around that time...I was running a fever off and on. Low grade. There were some other things that weren’t feeling quite right...so...just to be safe...I got another COVID test and quarantined. Still...I felt like I was ALWAYS in pain. Sometimes it was so bad...I couldn’t move or do anything in any way to make it stop. It made me want to cry. It was embarrassing. It was frustrating because I couldn’t get it to let up. It got so bad that last Saturday I drove myself to the ER to get checked out.

Urgent Care said they couldn’t help because I needed “imaging”. Well...I got that imaging done folks. Turns out...I have a scary mass on my right ovary. It’s pretty huge.

I went in Saturday night...terrified of being around sick people...but it had to be done. The pain was so intense...that my blood pressure shot sky high...and my nose starting bleeding. The doctor ordered morphine, Norco and a CT scan.

The guy doing the scan was a travel nurse. He went from being pretty chatty to sort of quiet and reserved after the test. When they injected the dye into me...he was telling me it would hurt...and it was nothing compared to what I was feeling.

I woke up two hours after the scan to the doctor on call sitting next to my bed and looking sorta weird at me. She told me they’d received my test results and everything I’d said was right on the money.

The burning, pressure, aching, tension...all of it...was related to what she referred to as “not the biggest mass” she’d ever seen...but “one of the largest”. She was surprised I’d been walking around with this thing in me for God knows how long.

Now here’s where the story goes off the rails.

That doctor at Ballad mentioned the word “cancer” about nine times in that room. That was the “suspected” diagnosis. She said I needed to follow up and see another doctor because of what could be “cancer”...and told me they’d have to see if it had spread anywhere.

Now...that was a LOT to take in. So...I did what any other person with an iPhone, an unlimited data plan and tons of morphine in their system would do...I looked that crap up on “Dr Internet”.

The next time a nurse came in...I asked her...”Umm did you guys do a CA 125 test?”

That same poor sweet nurse, who would go on to blow a vein...and push the medicine through the IV into my skin, thereby causing a monster of a bruise and making my vein get rock hard...she said in this really hushed tone...”I don’t know...I’ll ask. I saw your report. I’m so sorry.”

At this point...I’m facing my mortality. I just wanted out of there. I wanted this damn thing out of me...I wanted answers...I wanted everything to be okay.

I still want everything to be okay.

By the way...she never came back in with the answer to that CA 125 test question. So I took that as a hard “no”...or “they did it and don’t want to tell me”.

Monday I was back in the ER. Doubled over, in tears.

The doctor ordered pain medicine...that never came in the four hours I was there. That was NOT a fun time. The nurses just let me sit there. To her credit...the doctor was pretty furious when she found out they’d ignored her orders. Once again...this other doctor looks at me and says...”You know they think this is cancer?”

No. Still no test...but she made an appointment for me with a local oncologist.

Now...that CA 125 antigen test is not infallible, nor is it the end-all-be-all test for ovarian cancer. It is a marker though specifically for ovarian cancer.

So if they’re telling you that you have a massive tumor and it could be cancer...(two doctors over two visits..the word has been dropped about a dozen times...it’s also in the CT report...you’d think someone would bust out a needle...draw the blood...see what that looks like...and get you in the right frame of mind in case it is this horrible bastard of a disease!! Right? Wrong.)

The mass at the time was 10.3cm x 10.3cm x 7.1cm.

The oncologist couldn’t see me for a week...the gynecologist couldn’t see me until February 1st.

Yeah. No big hurry. I’m just having trouble walking. I’m in tears. I’m peeing...like a teaspoon at a time. I know that’s graphic...but if you don’t pee...you need to get checked. I felt like I was (and still feel, by the way) in the middle of a massive labor pain that wouldn’t ease off. It’s pain that makes you want to throw up sometimes. It’s super intense.

I went home that second time...sat down in my room...and I couldn’t help but tear up. I’ve cried two and a half times over the “state of things” since this started. Those are the “what am I going to do” tears...totally different from the “oh Lord this hurts like hell...dear God make it stop” tears.

Talked to our friend Eric who told me it was a shame I didn’t live in Nashville...because I could probably call Vanderbilt and be seen pretty quickly. Eric...was right. I’m three hours from Vanderbilt...but only an hour or so from Knoxville.

I called UT. (Go Vols!) That football situation isn’t ideal...but that hospital ain’t half bad.

Within less than an hour...the head Oncologist had looked over my CT scan and was working to get me in there ASAP. They’d have taken me that day...but it was too late in the day and I’d never make it down there in time. So...they scheduled me for Wednesday morning.

Before I walked out of the room that morning...they told me they were going to operate and get this out of me by Monday at the very latest. The schedule was full...so they needed to check on a few things before I left the hospital...just in case there was torsion or whatever.

I had a CA 125 test. That looked good from what I understand but my CT scan and sonogram looked sketchy. The mass appeared to be even larger since Saturday?!? (It showed up as being 12.6cm x 13.3cm x 8.3cm) They gave me a COVID test and told me to self isolate until my surgery...which is scheduled for tomorrow.

It was upon learning how much larger this thing had become...that I named it...”Larry King”.

I don’t know why...but that seemed to be the name that fit whatever this thing is inside me. In my mind...it looks like Larry King...holding two shot glasses. One shot glass is filled with Dewar’s...the other is filled with Metamucil. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth...but I don’t know if he’s a “smoker” yet.

If it officially comes back as cancer...I’ll let you know. If it doesn’t...I’ll let you know that, too.

I’m not writing this for pity or attention...on the contrary. It’s all a lot for me to take in...and I’m just not sure how to process it all. Writing it out sort of helps.

In the middle of all of this over the past week...Tom Starr passed away. He was such a sweet man. There’s a picture that he took of us at CRS...it’s me...Tom...Lisa McKay and Heather Davis. I think Heather wrote a caption that said something like “it’s so hard to believe half of the people in this picture are gone”.

That was pretty heavy.

I’m still trying to process that actually. I thought the world of Tom, loved Lisa McKay (she got me when so many others didn’t)...and just to the left...there I was. I felt like a jerk for even taking a moment to feel bad for myself. There are so many other people who have it so much worse than I do. And what if there’s nothing to this thing? What if it’s just some sort freak thing? There are so many people who’ve fought so hard and powered through so much and here I am...maybe worried for nothing...getting ready to have surgery...and it feels wrong to worry about myself. Whatever is done is done and I’ll fight whatever I need to fight. If it’s not cancer (oh God please let them all be wrong) then I have a lot of things that I need to do...and other people’s opinions and judgment that don’t have any place in my head or the right to exist in my life’s body of work or otherwise. I’ll just keep praying for them.

I keep telling myself those doctors could be wrong. Until I see a pathology report...this isn’t real.

While I appreciate and am thankful for any prayers you can send up on my behalf...please don’t feel obliged to write anything on this post. Seriously. I just needed to get this all out and behind me.

I HATE “bleeding on the internet”. It’s a serious pet peeve. Not everyone is worthy of knowing everything that’s going on...nor should they be expected to care...but I realize sometimes people need reinforcement and support. I still don’t like sharing MY business on here. It feels weird. I’ll talk about things on the air...that I don’t care to regurgitate on Facebook.

I’ll talk about award shows, TV, things that are funny...pictures...but it’s not my business who you vote for or what you believe in. I’m just glad that you DO. Better to have convictions and purpose than be apathetic. Over the years...it’s been amazing to see how a simple picture I’ve posted or link (without even commenting on it...just a pic or simple URL) how it can make people lose their minds.

You will never solve life’s problems on Facebook or any other social media platform. It controls you. You/we are merely the peanut gallery from which billions of dollars are “mined” every single minute we’re on here.

The smartest thing I ever had laid on me about social media was from an interview with a Silicon Valley person that said “If you’re not creating the product...you ARE the product. Think about that.

Our world is so messed up right now. And no matter what party you’re affiliated with...it just seems very wrong to lump everyone together and vilify them all. Not everyone is evil. Not everyone is right or wrong. Writing people off is so inhumane. You really can disagree with someone and not hate them.

I remember being at a concert in a few years ago and had just learned some pretty tough stuff that was impacting a competitor, and shared that with one of the leaders that I worked with. They’d taken a huge blow...which was awesome strategically...but it happened at the same time the competitors PD had lost his mother. I remember expressing that I felt bad for the guy (specifically about losing his mother)...and without batting an eye...the guy I worked with said he didn’t feel sorry for him at all. “That’s just too bad!” He said other things but I won’t go there because that would reveal who that person is...and the person for whom he was speaking about that day. Now...in my heart I hoped that guy who up until then I’d had so much respect for...did NOT know what happened to this guys mom. It just felt gross talking to him. I never looked at him the same way again. It was all about depth. There was nothing there. Very disappointing. I once cared what this guy thought about me...but that was done. And living through this now underscores that feeling and reminds me on a personal level what really is important. That’s a lot for a workaholic like me to process.

Today...we’re talking about Habitrol.

The Habitrol lozenges are a tad thinner and less “sturdy” for lack of a better word than...say...the Walgreen’s, Kroger or Rite Aid lozenges. Habitrol has a taste that is reminiscent of Vick’s mentholated rub. There’s also a weird little sliver that’s leftover when you keep these in your mouth for a while.

Pros:

1. Has nicotine

2. Handy and easy to keep track of in the blister packs.

3. Lots of product for the money.

4. Keeps your breath menthol fresh

5. Sugar Free

Cons

1. Tastes like you just did a shot of Rumple Minze and washed it down with a Fresh Mint Listerine Chaser

2. Made me a little nauseous (maybe that’s a pro?)

3. Has a weird little sliver of...I don’t know...whatever it was...in the center

4. Made me miss Walgreen’s Sugar Free lozenges

5. They melt away pretty quickly. I prefer to hang onto the lozenge for a while...and contemplate the impact of my poor life choices when using them. They’re thinner...so that means less time for regrets and self loathing.

It beats smoking or using alternative tobacco products. It really knocks down the craving for nicotine...and if you have a stuffy nose or have to embalm a body...that minty smell/taste will probably minimize that congestion and keep you from smelling that full on cadaver waft? (Pure speculation...but I feel confident in that claim.)

In a pinch...buy it. Use it. Stop smoking or chewing tobacco. Your family and friends probably love you and want to keep you around for a while. And...even though it smells and tastes like a leprechaun’s armpits...it’s still better than rancid tobacco breath. Right?

Dealing with and facing your own mortality is terrifying. Think about it. Everything we do: making money...chasing dreams...entertaining ourselves or others...going through the motions of everyday life...it’s all about one thing and one thing only to me. All of these things are just clever little ways to take our attention away from the inevitable: we’re all going to die and as much as we immerse ourselves into religion and life’s pursuits...it’s that “unknown” that we won’t ever escape. There’s just no definitive way to say for sure what’s “next”.

When I was around five years old I had this near death experience and to this day I still remember that euphoric sense of teetering on the brink of Nevermore. Suddenly...I was back and fully aware that I wasn’t wherever that happy place was...and I was earthbound until it was time for me leave forever. I cried myself to sleep that night.

It still feels like it happened just yesterday. It was all incredibly vivid.

In the years since then...many things have transpired that have shown me that there is something, much greater than all of us, at work. No one can be as fortunate as it seems that I’ve been at times. Last minute “saves”. Miraculous encounters. There have been SO MANY THINGS. Yet...inevitably...here I am. Curiosity prevailing. Inquisitive and morose. Terrified of the possibility that any moment could be the last...and I hate it.

I’m the person who reads the first and last chapter of the book first...and THEN goes back to Chapter Two...to start seeing how it gets tied together. I hate surprises...not knowing answers.

It’s amazing to me how cruel and callous people can be when it comes to their treatment of others. The judgement of it all. The justification of bad behavior. It’s all in the name of advancement...that quite frankly doesn’t mean a damn thing in the end. Not to any of us.

The quest for immortality doesn’t really mean anything. What is it really? Think about that for a second. Even the pursuit of money and possessions is vacuous. It’s all “in the now”...and a selfish attempt at creature comforts...many times at the expense of others and THEIR comfort.

None of it matters.

All I’m really sure of is that:

1. I love my family. Each and every one. I wish I could’ve been “more” for them. They all deserved a better version of me. I know I did the best I could with what had been taught to me and it just never felt good enough.

2. My father was a tortured genius with a fiercely violent streak that was aimed at me when I was kid. He had no self-control. When he’d beat the hell out of me...most of the time he didn’t remember what he’d done after the fact. It made me loathe and pity him...all at the same time. He was many life lessons rolled into one human being. I loved and hated him. Sometimes I’m ashamed of the way I felt because even at the pinnacle of his brutality...I KNEW he was suffering. Even at the age of four or five...I felt more like an “adult” in those situations than I should have. My lack of trust and security probably stems from all of that. I’ve never felt safe or protected and of all the things that I wish I could change...THAT would be the thing. It’s just not real to me...on any level.

3. My work has been the pool I’ve been swimming in for my entire life. As hard as it is to face...it’s often felt that the harder I worked to do my job...the harder that the less evolved have worked to dismiss or tear it down...and I don’t give a damn anymore. Every piece of hard work has been written off as “luck”...or “opportunistic” it seems by people who just didn’t seem to think me “worthy”. If I’d been working for the approval of those naysayers...it’d probably upset me. As it stands...I sleep well at night knowing that giving credit where credit is due makes me happy. Anyone that’s looked at me and doubted my sincerity...can pretty much kiss my ass and go wallow in their own insecurities. It’s only made me work and fight harder...and for that...I say “thanks”.

4. We should be good to each other. No one wins this game. Love people. Respect people. Give your heart and don’t expect anything in return. Comfort people who need it. Compliment people when they deserve it. Hug someone that’s hurting or when you’re happy. Tell people what they really mean to you...and don’t hurt others because you can. Say you’re sorry...and mean it. Most of all...accept that we’re all different and celebrate those differences instead of condemning them.

It’s been two years since my doctor told me that I needed to start keeping a journal of my daily diet and working out. I told him that I HAD been doing all of that for 6-8 months and seeing no real results. That’s when he stopped dead in his tracks and said “we’re checking your thyroid”. Sure enough...my thyroid appeared to be for ornamental purposes only.

I’d been through this before. Most doctors test your TSH and when the values look normal...they just let it go and tell you that you’re fine. Thank goodness this doctor looked even closer at what was going on and knew to test my T3 and T4 as well. It wasn’t until over a year later when I felt horrible even though I was taking medication (levothyroxine andl then later liothyronine) that I went back to another doctor (I had moved to a different state at that point and really hadn’t been in to see a doctor since moving) and it was discovered that my levels were way off. The second doctor tested my TPOab and they were way out of whack.

Doctor #2 took me off of the levothyroxine/liothyronine combo...and took it down to just the levothyroxine and upped the dosage. By spring, I felt like garbage again and sought out an endocrinologist with the help of my primary physician. It took MONTHS to get into her practice...but when that time rolled around...she sat me down...looked at my blood work and told me that she would have had me hospitalized if she had seen the blood work that my primary saw several months before. She diagnosed me with autoimmune thyroiditis. Hashimoto’s disease.

I started reading everything possible. Dr. Internet had a whole lot of nothing to say.

Fatigue? Yeah. Swollen face? You betcha. Weight gain? Damn right. And lots of it. Sleep problems? Uh...yeah. Big time. Anxiety? Yep. Muscle pain? OMG yes. Sometimes so bad that it brought me to tears. Hair loss? Lil’ bit. Brittle nails? Yeah Weird swelling? Mmhmm I even had problems with my tongue. WTH?! EXTREME Vitamin D deficiency? Oh yeah...that too. Weird low body temperature? I average around 97.3 degrees to the average persons normal of 98.6. I am truly...cold-blooded. I burn up all the time though. Odd.

It was so frustrating. It was as if everything that had gone haywire in my body was now readily explained with this diagnosis.

First off...I was worried and relieved all at the same time.It was like a light went on and everything fell into place. THIS is why I was so tired. I’d work 12-14 hours a day and go home and go straight to my couch or to bed. I still do. I’m not complaining because I love my job. BUT...I have to admit that it had become increasingly difficult to push through for all those hours. Even now with medication it’s tough but I do it. When I wake up at random hours in the night and can’t get back to sleep...I find things to work on. It’s how I’ve adjusted to the situation. This has been going on for YEARS.

Secondly...it was concerning because I wondered how much damage had been done and was now irreparable because it had gone untreated so long.

Third...even with an explanation about my weight...that didn’t really help me feel any better about it.

I started thinking back and it was overwhelming to process things like my erratic body temp issues...my face getting red in the past (and even now to some degree...) having TWO major surgeries for things that could have been controlled and treated with medication. The crazy weight gain. (I am basically the size of a small to medium size village at this point.)

What a ripoff.

How in the hell did this go on so long without being diagnosed!?!?!

The levothyroxine sucked. I had felt better with the mix of synthroid and cytomel. My friend Amy in Arizona had Hashimoto’s and had recommended Naturethroid. I begged my endocrinologist to switch me out and she did. It was awesome!! I felt so much better. Not great....but better. Not like a melted candle on a summer sidewalk...but more of a semi-melted ice cream cone on a spring day.

THEN...there was a national shortage?! No. Seriously. That happened.

Walgreen’s ran out of Naturethroid. Almost all pharmacies ran out. That’s when they put me on Armour. Garbage. Lame. I might as well have been licking chalk every day. I gained even MORE weight. Was super tired. Depressed. It was terrible.

Finally...I found a pharmacy that carried Naturethroid and even though it wasn’t an accurate dose...was able to break it into something that seemed to work.

One of the hardest things about this stupid thyroid disease...disorder...whatever you want to call it...is that it seems to take forever to get the dosage correct. I’m still not 100 percent. I’m still getting bloodwork done more often than I’d like. Just to function. Just to live. I keep reminding myself that there are so many others who have things that are so much more difficult to live with...and that puts it into perspective. It still sucks though.

I hate the memes about this disease. Annoying. Basically...there are two varieties: the “omg I’m so tired and you don’t understand” garbage...

Okay. Seriously?

Just STFU.

If you feel like you have to put that out there...the people around you suck. Stop talking to those losers and caring what those bitches think. Just...STOP. The whiny memes are not inspirational. They’re just...whiny. Yeah yeah. You’re sick...I’m sick...we’re all sick. We’re all trying to get by...blah blah blah.

Sorry sweetheart...but we’re all on a one horse open sleigh...straight to the grave. All of us. No one will make it. There will be no survivors. Suck it up. We’re all dying. There are people out there with cancer and a bajillion other things that are excruciatingly painful. Hypothyroidism sucks...and it isn’t easy...but come on. Try not to live in that head space. We all want to take a nap...under our desks...ten minutes after we get to work...but still...

Listen...if you feel like you have to explain yourself and your battle to people...maybe those people aren’t really worthy of being around you? Something to think about. Your pain is real...the fatigue and symptoms are real...people who genuinely love and care about you...will understand. Anyone that would try to make you feel bad about what’s going on with your health...probably isn’t worth your time and effort anyway.

(Thyroid Cancer...is pretty scary. I literally had one doctor tell me that if I ended up having thyroid cancer...that it was the “best kind”. For the people that have lived through that...you go ahead and you post the memes. You’ve earned that right.)

And then there are the dicks that make fat jokes. I don’t mind the fat slurs. I have to admit though...the acceptance of that form of discrimination makes me laugh. It’s totally fine to trash someone for being fat and treat them like they’re less than human...but a lot of those same people that discriminate against the “glandular challenged”...seem to get offended over other forms of discrimination. The hypocrisy...is awesome...not really.

Except for this quote...this one is actually my favorite...

Gets me every time. Fat or not...that’s just...funny.

They can make all the gravy jokes they want...deep down...I can’t wait until their glands fail them and they start to chub up later in life...or until their wives leave them because of their impotence issues. But...I digress...

If you’re living with this garbage...I’m sorry. If your “journey” (that’s my least favorite blog buzzword EVER...”journey”)...is anything like mine...I wish you the best of luck and hope that you find the right mix of medication for your condition. I’m still on the struggle bus trying to find mine. As you work your way towards a workable solution...and maybe start losing the weight and get some of your energy back...just remember the people who weren’t there for you or made you feel like less of a person...and make a note of it. That’s who they really are...deep down. Don’t you deserve better than that in your life?

Last weekend I spent the night at the VA Hospice. My aunt and uncle were there with my grandpa and I didn’t want them to be there alone. My grandpa Arthur was like a father to me. My uncles were more like brothers to me than anything else.

Grandpa was one of the hardest working people I’ve ever known. He ran his branch of Nationwide insurance and then when he got off work there...he’d go home and farm tobacco. My uncle and I were talking about working in that tobacco. I hated pulling plants...riding the setter...sweating out in the sun...trying to scrub the residue off your hands...but there was nothing better than the smell of that tobacco curing inside the barn in the fall. We were taught how to work.

Seems like you always remember the craziest things at times like this. My grandpa was proud of my reading skills. When I was four years old...he’d brag on me and get me to read the information off the pesticide buckets to my uncle Roy or anyone else he could get to listen. He also told me that my brain was too big and that made me “too wide between the eyes.” The other thing that seems ironic now as someone who ended up in radio...is that he’d tell us that we were “broadcastin’...when we ought to be a tunin’ in”. When my grandma would tell us some piece of news from around town...he’d refer to her as “Big 6”...which was a reference to WSM AM.

We all heard stories about Ronnie Milsap. Grandpa and grandma had a little store down near Santeetlah Dam near the entrance of Goldmine. Grandpa used to help Ronnie’s mama Grace here and there. He gave them food and sometimes he’d give Ronnie clothes and shoes when he was tiny. Grandpa knew they had it rough. He tried to help anyone he could. I’ve spent many years with him in the car driving over the Dragon...back when it was just Hwy 129...going to see my Aunt Pearl in Madisonville and my uncles in Knoxville and Maryville.

My grandpa was a Master Sgt in the Army during World War II stationed and fighting in the Philippines. One of the RN’s taking care of him, is a guy named Leonard.

Leonard told me...my aunt and uncle that he felt that it was an honor and blessing to be able to take care of my grandpa in his final days. The US Army fought for and beside his people in the Philippines...and Leonard was proud to be there for him. There was something special about hearing that from him. War wasn’t kind to my grandpa. He contracted Malaria while overseas and had recurring bouts of sickness throughout the rest of his life. He was tough as nails...but he was no stranger to the VA hospital.

My grandpa got to join my grandma and my dad this morning. He was the baby of his family. When my mom and dad were off playing music...he and my grandma...and my grandpa and grandma on my mom’s side took care of me. I’m blessed to have known them all. My kids were fortunate to know them.

People always seem to ask...”well how old was he or she” when someone elderly passes. It’s as if the acknowledgment of their age takes away from the grief you’re allowed to feel. Not everyone is close to their grandparents. Mine were like my parents. While my grandfather lived almost 95 years...he was where I got my work ethic...this long Shope chin and I’m pretty sure he’s where I got a good dose of my Millsaps temper...(God bless my grandma for her Turbeville blood that evened that temper out as I’ve grown older...actually...the Butler and Wakefield part of me probably helped even that temper out too. Trust me...it took a village...so-to-speak.) that doesn’t make it okay that we have to say goodbye. My grandparents took care of me. A lot.

Losing someone in a world of insincerity and empty words...and hollow...although well intended, sentiment...just seems to drive home the sobering reality that there’s one less person on earth that will love and care about you. When I say I love someone or care about someone...I really mean it. Not everyone does. Not everyone believes you when you tell them those words. ..most likely because they’ve been left hanging or felt that cold sting of the realization that they just don’t matter to someone as much as that person means to them.

Today...there’s one less person that actually loves and cares about me and my family. I’m sad about that.

Today...there’s one less person that genuinely means what he said when he talked to me. (He loved teasing me about my weight. I’ll even miss that. I always joked with him that if he didn’t straighten up...that I’d get him in a headlock.)

I’m sad for all my family has lost. I’m proud of how well my aunt and uncle and my cousins took him into their home and took care of him. I’m thankful that God allowed me to move back home in time to come visit with him before he passed. I’m happy that he woke up in heaven with my grandma, his parents, my dad, his brothers and sisters and the good friends waiting for him. Most of all...I’m glad to have been able to call him my grandpa.

William Arthur Millsaps