This Road (part 1)

With a backpack, an i-pod, and a couple of hats in tow, I strike out on a familiar trip to be with my family for my Dad’s surgery. I’ve been so busy. The car provides an oasis of sorts, a resting place, a spot to cool down from the desert heat that has been my life. The singer songwriters fill the listening space in my car delivering thoughts both contemplative and ironic, like the town criers of old, like the ancient prophets spinning their own private brand of truth.

It is in these moments I realize I have spent my entire life traveling to Tennessee, but never really staying. Wherever I have lived I’ve always known the path back. I’m going today for my Dad’s surgery, but I’ll be back in a month for another reason. I used to think it was because I was meant to live there, like I had somehow I had missed my destiny, my one true love. Now I think it’s more about the trip back, or should I say the trip home if home can be a place I’ve never truly lived.

The reason for my trek this time is not an exciting proposition. Although this surgery is a long time coming, the idea of spending any more of my life in a hospital waiting for news is almost unbearable. If it will ease my Dad’s pain at all it will be worth it. It’s amazing how much a few seconds can change your life. Since the accident Dad as not been the same and in a way none of us have.

The surgery was planned to last several hours, but it has only lasted an hour and a half. The doctors told Dad he would be in the hospital for five days, but he is out in less than twenty-four hours. He should not be walking for days, so I guess it’s no surprise that he is walking me to my car to tell me goodbye.

The music on the way home is much more upbeat. Even though Dad is still in pain, there is now hope where there was none before, hope that he can move on from the tragedy that has affected us so. As I reach the place half way between home and home my thoughts turn to my family, to the love Dana and I have for Brendan, and to the uncertainty of the next part of this journey.

I love my life.

I rejoice in what is behind us, and praise God for the trials that are ahead. The strength of the embrace from my son as I walk in the door brings emotions for which I am not yet ready. He’s going to need that strength.