One Night in January

All who regularly read my blog will recall a previous posting “22 South to Birmingham,” about the night I drove home to say the final goodbye to my father. What I did not talk about at the time was what I saw along the way.

My father was a truck driver for over 20 years, a long haul trucker. He always set me in mind of that Johnny Cash song, “I’ve been everywhere,” because he certainly had, you name it, he’d been there.

It’s a common practice among truckers who sleep in there trucks to park on an on or off ramp never the highways. I’ve seen them bunches together as many as 20 trucks deep forming their own protective mobile neighborhood almost.

But on this night it seemed different. This night as one of there own was passing (he did three days later) it seemed as though they had gathered to wish me luck as I passed, while they stayed behind to swap stories about him and say goodbye to one of their own.

On the drive back, the trucks remained but all of their lights were out, the tales were told, the reminiscing done. Like me, they were in mourning.

Until next time, love and light.