At the End of Our Trip

Bringing Her Home

We pulled up in front of her house. I still couldn’t believe our journey was over. It seemed to pass way too quickly. I came around to her side of the car and opened her door. Not that she couldn’t have done it. It’s just the way we always did. . She got out and we embraced deeply and long. She said, “Thank you Fred. We’ve had a wonderful journey together, haven’t we. I will never forget you nor all the great adventures we’ve had.” “Me too sweetheart”, I replied, “I’ll never forget you either and I’ll cherish our memories the rest of my life. You are my treasure. Tell your Dad ‘hi’ and give him a big hug for me, will you? I’ll see you soon enough. I can’t wait. I love you!” “Love you to honey.” She said,“ keep your eyes on the road and do good. I’ll be praying for you!” Another hug. A kiss. Tears. She turns and walks up the steps to her house. The porch light comes on. I see her Dad through the screen and give him a wave. He smiles and nods. I wave and call out one more good bye. My voice cracks. She turns while holding the screen door open and sends me one final wave, blows me a kiss and taking her Father’s hand, disappears inside.

I walk around to the driver’s side of our old Plymouth wagon and touching the handle I glance again at her porch. The empty glider moves silently in the evening breeze. With a deep, resigned breath, I open the door and plop behind the wheel. I heave a great sigh thinking, “Wow, I’m going to miss that girl. I’m so glad we got her home safe and sound.” From somewhere deep inside me I hear, “you did good, son.”

I wipe away some drying tears. The engine is still running. “Where to now, Jesus?” “Just go,” he says, squeezing my shoulder, “Let’s see what’s up ahead. Knowing us, I think there are some amazing times ahead” I shift into gear and ease off the clutch and the car begins to roll. We smile at each other. “Amen Lord, Amen.”

Grief

The worst part part about grief is the things you didn’t say and the love you felt but didn’t share.

Things don’t go on forever. There is an end. Or rather there is a dramatic change. It’s like waiting at the train station for the train that’s going to pick up your loved one and take them to the next destination. It seems like the train is delayed and you become distracted. You no longer think about your loved one leaving and the precious moments you have together there on the platform. Your life takes on a routine where you forget the leaving, you forget about the train. Then one day when you’re not looking, the train comes and your loved one gets on board, and before you realize it, it pulls away from the platform and leaves the station. You run after it for a while but then the platform ends and you can’t go further. If I’d only known. Well I did know. I’d heard plenty of times that the train is coming and we’re on a platform for a reason. If I had only kept that in mind I would’ve said everything I wanted to say. I would’ve made sure she got all the love that I had to give. The worst part of grief is having words and love left here in my heart that actually belonged to her, that she should’ve taken with her. Now there’s nothing to do with these except give them to God, call out after her send them with an angel, and hope and believe that she gets them.

I once was blind, but now I see.

Death heals my emotional vision, my spiritual vision. Now I can see Vicki. They say hindsight is 2020. Nothing like death to heal the eyes. So now I tell her everything in my heart that I wish I had said to her here on earth. Now I say all the love and feel all the love that I never said or expressed and I hope to our father in heaven that she is filled with it and in return I hope to receive the abundant forgiveness I need for falling so far short of being her lover.

She’s dancing now!