Carol and I kind of went home last week. At least it felt that way at first.

We both come from Carlisle, Ark. Carlisle is a Summerton-sized town, 32 miles from Little Rock and 96 miles from Memphis on Interstate 40 in Eastern Arkansas. It’s a community of farmers, business owners, teachers, commuters and until last Tuesday a medical doctor.

Carol’s father lost his bout with cancer Tuesday night last week. A couple of months ago, after many months of treatment, the doctors said they had done all they could do. It was just a matter of time.

Carol had made as many trips to visit as we could afford. It’s not easy to get to Arkansas from here. It’s either a long day of flying or an even longer day or so of driving. We put two papers out in one week last Christmas so we could spend a week in Arkansas. It was the best time and money I’ve ever spent.

We flew from Myrtle Beach to Memphis last Wednesday, rented a car and met up with youngest son Joe and made the final leg of the trip to Carlisle. The views of the flat lands, rice fields and grain towers started looking very familiar 20 or 30 miles out. It was almost like coming home again.

As we neared Carlisle, our youngest son Joe spotted the landmark five or six story green tower where rice is stored and processed. We passed the Carlisle Municipal Airport where Carol’s father kept his bi-wing Steerman airplane so many years ago. I recognized my old friend’s farms and houses and finally we arrived at the Carlisle exit with the familiar interstate motel, restaurants and gas stations.

It’s a short drive from the interstate to Doctor Inman’s house, the house where Carol grew up. There were friends’ and family’s cars everywhere. They were all coming by to offer condolences and bring a casserole, dessert or sandwich meat tray.

We walked into a house full of people, most I had not seen from somewhere between 10 and almost 30 years. Family we had seen recently. Many others I had not seen since I left Carlisle in 1975.

The Inman house was a constant whirl of people coming and going. There were many people who came to pay their respects to Doctor Inman’s family. Doc had practiced medicine in Carlisle for 35 years. There weren’t too many people who lived in the area who he hadn’t treated at one time or another.

The first time I can remember meeting him was in the summer of 1972. A bunch of my buddies and I were at a swimming hole trying to cool off during a hot Arkansas summer day. We had constructed a diving board at a canal on one of my friend’s dad’s farm.

I jumped off the diving board feet first and my feet sank in the mud and a sharp pain shot through my foot. Someone had thrown a broken bottle in the canal and I found it. My buddies rushed me back to town and to Doc Inman’s house. He had an examination room set up right at the back door of their house. He sewed me up, gave me a tetanus shot and sent me on my way. I wasn’t the first person he had treated in that small back door examination room. Nor was I the last.

A few years later, I discovered his youngest daughter (or she discovered me) and eventually I became part of the family. That’s when I found out what kind of doctor he was. Doc Inman treated many people in that little examination room in his house. He made many house calls long after it became taboo. He never turned anyone down because they didn’t have any money. He didn’t treat anyone different because they were black or white, rich or poor. He just quietly took care of his neighbors. He was truly a servant of God.

He ate dinner every night at 6 p.m. I sat at the dining room table many times and dinner always started with Doc Inman saying grace. After some 30 years of hearing the same prayer, I have no clue what he said, but I know God was listening. I’m sure this man had a special relationship and God was listening.

This trip back to Carlisle was especially tough. I said goodbye to a man I admired and looked up to for many years. I hope when it’s all said and done, I measure up to be just half the man Doc Inman was. If I meet that standard, I will have made a positive difference in this world.

I said we kind of went home last week. It was good to see family and friends and refresh some forgotten memories again. But Carol and I discovered something on the way back to Manning from the Myrtle Beach Airport. We discovered we were headed back home, home to Manning. We learned Carlisle wasn’t really home anymore.

We talked about all the phone calls and voice mails from our Clarendon County friends offering sympathy, condolence, help and prayer. We talked about all the flowers from our friends in Clarendon County sent to the Arkansas funeral home. When we got home, we had a mailbox full of sympathy cards and notes. It was then we knew we were home.

I’m a fortunate man. One, I knew Dr. Fred C. Inman Jr. Two, I found my way back home.