Today I drive home for Grandfather's memorial service. That won't be the only memorial: this will be the first trip home without MyUnwife. Road trips used to be great for us. We'd sing, talk, work puzzles, and all the same things we used to do as kids except punch each other. Even the silence was good. Wind, sun, and love via osmosis. Now it's six hours of me alone. My brain whining "are we there yet?" to an empty cabin.
I know, it sounds pathetic, but it's something I've got to do. And I'll be fine. I used to do it all the time, but the long drives are so much better with a companion. I guess that's what you could say about life. At least I do. Go ahead, say it. Good, part of the road trip too: waiting for somebody to finish their story while you hold your really cool one inside. Shaking like you need to pee, praying they'll pull their story over to the side of the road. I like sharing ideas and dreams with somebody who cares, having somebody to pelt me with M&M's when I get sidetracked or too whiny.
Today I drive out alone, but it's not a permanent state. I have spare seats in the car, so if you stand along the side of the road, I'll stop to pick you up.
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