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The song played on the radio at least once each time I drove to see my Bampa in the hospital. I made the drive every single day and without fail, this song would play on my commute to the hospital or from the hospital, sometimes both ways. In the beginning, I thought it was a promise of hope, like Mr. Gokey was letting me know every day that Bampa would recover and we would again enjoy another day together. I would sing loud and strong in my truck, confident that things were going to get better. Each time, he belted out the lines, "I've got sunsets to witness, dreams to dance with..." I gained confidence mentally absorbing the impact of the words and directing them with my with mind to Bampa.
Over the next few weeks, his health failed further. Still the song played, as if the DJ's at KFRG radio station were trying to remind me that today wasn't the end, even though the doctors said Bampa's days were limited. I recall driving and thinking about the irony of it all. Here I am listening to how the best days are still ahead while my Bampa is struggling to take his next breath. As the chorus would play I would sing quietly, guiltily, using it as a crutch for the hope that was evading me. No matter how much guilt I felt, the song still played.
My hope soon changed direction. Instead of hoping for a recovery, I was just hoping that his final days with us were pain-free. I hoped for his freedom and that it would be kind. I hoped my Grandma would be able to say goodbye and continue living her life. I hoped we would all be able to recover from the loss that was bound to leave a hole in our hearts and lives. I hoped that we would all be able to say goodbye when the time came. Still the song played, taunting me with a cheerfulness I could not feel.
When I got the call in the middle of Bampa’s final night, I raced down the mountain to meet my family at the hospital for a final goodbye. I would not turn the radio on for fear the song would play. It would have been words I simply could not have handled at the time. We left the hospital and drove to my Grandma's house in silence as I again refused to turn the radio on. After spending hours with loved ones recounting the joys of his life, I went on my way back up the mountain and I finally turned the radio on because my thoughts were too loud. Three songs in, the song played. I almost hit the power button, almost shut the voice off that was singing about there being beaches left to walk on and a whole world left to see. Just as my finger touched the power button, Gokey sang the line, "I don't get lost in the past or get stuck in some sad memory" and my entire perception changed. All of a sudden I began thinking about how my Bampa never lived in the past, always telling me that you can't change things so move on. And this time, when the chorus played, I listened and heard the song just a little differently. While my Bampa may no longer be walking the earth, he still had a world of things to see and do, albeit in a world different than ours. Best days ahead, indeed, because now he could walk every beach, see every mountaintop, enjoy every sunset, and now he can reach out and touch all of us in a manner he couldn't do while breathing our air. I let the song play.
Now, when the song comes on my radio, usually from my music collection as opposed to the radio DJ's, I hold my head up and I sing loudly. As Gokey bellows, "Life hasn't always been a party but mostly it's been good. There's only one or two things that I'd change if I could. I don't get lost in the past or get stuck in some sad memory, yeah. My best days are ahead of me," I immediately smile as the face of Bampa dances in my mind. It's amazing how a song from a person you don't know can change not only a mood but a perception.
