I drove the road entirely too fast, the car rocking on its shocks as I hair-pinned each turn. I pushed the odometer to 70, then 80. Could this family car do 90? Yes, it could. Would a deer run out? Would a cop stop me? Would the curves come too fast? I pushed harder, to see what would happen at 100.
What if the engine blew? I sailed down the road in anticipation.
The air sparked around me - the wind howling through my open windows and the radio obliterating everything else.
I felt invisible, lost in the noise.
I had woken up that morning with nothing pressing on my “to do” list - the kids and the husband and the work all accounted for. And through the window, the sun had shown through with such clarity that the possibilities for the day felt crushing.
How could I have another day to get through without my mother?
I had gotten into my car, for no reason at all, and drove north, away from civilization. I felt, with urgency, that there was no time to waste. I had to do something, go somewhere, see something.
Now, as I drove far too fast, the trees came and went in bunches, the yellowing fields lost all focus. I slipped on my sunglasses, tears falling, my hair floating all around me, and roared down the road. I was alone; not another car dared show its face.
I was headed to nowhere, and there was vacancy.
I pushed the accelerator to the floor; I pushed it until it bottomed-out and the engine topped out. I traveled a straight slice of asphalt cut through open country, as fast as I’d ever gone.
What was life now, after death?
I began an inventory of my life, of my days since my mother had died: When had I last danced? Felt his hands on my back? Went without a plan? Laughed?
So much of my life in the last few years had been watered down to the smallest circle. I had spent days and weeks and months trying to save her, and, then, just as many trying to let her go. The loss had paralyzed me, robbed me, changed me. I had grown old, in fact was doing so right now, in that very car. The life that I had known was dead, too.
In the howling wind, at a ferocious speed, I saw a curve appear in the road ahead. I was going entirely too fast. I didn’t let up.
And that’s when it happened.
There, riding on the edge of life, I found I wanted to keep it. Happiness, of all things, scrambled out from beneath the grief.
Suddenly, I felt a stirring, a spark, a flare. I realized I wanted to play and laugh and howl again. I wanted to plan and build and rejoice again. I wanted to live, again.
Even without my mother.
Tears came to my eyes; this time in relief. I was still alive.
I slowed the car and pulled over on the gravel shoulder. I was shaken and scared. But when I looked up, I could finally see what I’d been missing: The road still ahead of me.
The shift had finally come. My list of questions could perhaps be what was next, not what was lost. I let that come over me and with it, a calm, a renewal. A look ahead, not behind.
With that, I turned the music up, let out a little howl to see if I still could, and cranked the wheel hard, fishtailing in the dirt.
I headed for home. But this time, I drove with care.
❤️
There are some profound statements in that story. Very well done!
Great Read. Keep up the good work!