DRIVING DOWN A FAMILIAR ROAD 2

I incorrectly titled my posting the other day.  This one really is about driving down a familiar road.  Gwen and I had many an exciting road trip together.  Back in 1963, before we were married,  we drove from Gaastra to Ann Arbor where I had an interview for graduate school.  Quite an adventure in those days.  I believe we stayed with Ted and Jackie in Lansing, and also spent time with Dick and Mary.  Then, a year later the trip to Reedsville, Wisconsin, followed a year later by one of three trips to Oregon.  Even later there were trips to Boston, New York, Florida, and, a particularly memorable one when we drove Mike to Austin, Texas, for a diving meet.  It was August, hot, and our, little Renault Le Car didn't have air conditioning.  A fairly recent trip that I remember fondly was when we flew out to Colorado and then Bob and Jeanne lent us their Honda for a trip to the Grand Canyon and several other points of interest.

I always enjoyed driving, and even now look forward to some road trips this spring and summer.  Gwen enjoyed seeing new things, but was always more concerned about getting to the destination than she was about enjoying the ride.  She would often nap; I didn't mind, it gave me time to think and just enjoy being able to spend time together.  I miss that very much now that Gwen is gone; others who have lost a spouse tell me that it's often while in the car that a wave of grief will overtake them.  I wrote this poem about it:

 DRIVING DOWN A FAMILIAR ROAD

It overwhelms me, sometimes,

that lonely, empty feeling.

Driving down a familiar road,

completely lost,

that’s how it makes me feel.

It never felt that way

with her at my side,

excited about what lay ahead;

the cottage, the U. P., something new.

Nibbling on orange cookies

from that place in Frankenmuth.

Making plans for the rest

of our life together.

I massage her neck, as she naps,

gently stroke her hair,

see her once again for the very first time.

The whine of the tires

on the steel grates of The Bridge

awakes her, confused for a moment.

It’s OK, I say, we’re

driving down a familiar road.

John A. Bayerl, March 20, 2011

The Bridge is, of course, The Mackinac Bridge, a destination for many Apple Knockers, but to us just another five miles, except for the time we walked  it on Labor Day.  It was always a welcome to God's Country for us.  How I loved those moments when I would see you again for the first time.  Maybe that's the hardest part about all of this, not being able to do that any longer.