Right now, I could use a healthy dose of Paul Harvey.  I just want to know the rest of the story.

For those unfamiliar with this allusion, Paul Harvey was a staple of my childhood.  He was a radio broadcaster with a distinct voice and style all his own.  He told captivating stories, and if I remember correctly, they generally paused with a cliffhanger and a conclusion that was broadcast a bit later.  It was the rest of the story.

My grandpa loved country music.  He had a stereo speaker specially wired so he could play WDAF 61 Country in his garage and had another set up in his workshop. Everyone fell silent when Mr. Harvey came on the air.  No one had to tell me to “hush” because I was just as entranced as they were.  He could weave a story like a master craftsman.

The stories tended to have a conclusion that came with a twist, and they almost always turned out to be positive or inspirational.

I miss my grandpa every day, but right now the dial on that is turned up a few notches.  I miss his wisdom, his wit, and his calming presence.  In my mind, I can hear him saying, “Now, Pamela…” at the start of a lecture meant to impart wisdom, but I don’t know what he would say to next.

I miss sitting with him in his garage, listening to the radio, sipping fresh-squeezed lemonade, no concerns other than whether my brother might come intrude upon our afternoon.

I wish I had listened to him with the attentiveness I gave to Mr. Harvey.

Even if I sometimes had the clogged ears of youth, my grandpa was my sunrise and my sunset, my due North when I lost my way.   He was the only one allowed to put eye drops in my eyes when I had an infection.  He was the only one allowed to put peroxide on my infected chickenpox sores, blowing on them gently as they bubbled.  He always made things hurt less.

I remember how I used to squirm when he cried as he talked about how much he loved his family.  Then my babies grew up a little bit, and I understood it completely.  Loving so much can make you cry.

I want Paul Harvey to reassure me everything is going to work out for my daughter, for the children of my friends, for my mother, for… so many.  I just want to know the rest of the story.  I never skip to read the end of books, but in this instance, I would be sorely tempted.

And I want my grandpa to be there to hear it with me, to explain it if I don’t understand, to make it better like he always did.

I want to hear the words “Good day” and know they are true.