Going home

Afull moon was shining through the window and the mile markers were flying by every few seconds. I’d been asleep in the backseat of an ’86 Crown Victoria with my brother and sister squeezed in next to me. Mama was asleep in the front passenger seat and Daddy was driving us up Interstate 65 toward Nashville from another Sunday trip to Alabama.

Except for the sound of the tires on the pavement the car was totally silent; the clock on the dash gave the moonlit car a greenish blue glow that would get washed out by streetlights every few miles.

In those moments of being the only one awake with Daddy, I never thought much about it. Something would wake me up, and just as quickly, the droning of the road would lull me back to sleep. I never wondered much what Daddy did on those drives; I never considered what he might be thinking about. Kids just exist and never think about the bigger picture around them.

I never thought about the sacrifice it took to drive home for three hours, unload the car, get us kids to bed, and then wake up the next day and go back to work. I never thought about the gas or road snacks, and the struggle to stay awake never crossed my mind.

I didn’t think about what it must have been like to only see his Mama every once in a while and have to leave her home to go back to everyday life. I just saw him up there, an elbow on the door and a couple of fingers steadying the wheel as we may our way home.

That is, at least, until last weekend when the moon hit the window just right and I heard three little snores in the backseat.

I drove in silence thinking about work on Monday and how many trips it would take to unpack the car; I thought about feeding the dog and a short night of sleep and in that moment really appreciated those Sunday night drives home in a way I never had before.