As I continued to reflect upon the significance of the past several days in connection with dad's death, I thought about the trip Becky and I made on Friday. Our trip actually began the evening before when I arrived at the Portland Airport sometime around 8:30pm. Becky and her beaming self greeted me with a boisterous, "JULIE!!" and I went running to her. We hopped in her rented Jeep SUV that was packed with the rest of her belongings and took off down the 205 fwy (I think it was the 205). We decided to stop for dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory. We grubbed, then we drove, she drove us about 45 minutes south to cut off some of the distance we'd have to drive the following day. We stayed over at the Black Bear Best Western, and woke early the next morning to make the long journey home. In fact, this brings me to my point of reflection. On that fateful day, dad began his journey north with the intention of spending some time with Becky and perhaps with the underlying objective to convince her to come home, back to California. And this past weekend, we completed the circle. I brought her home.
He was with us the whole trip; I envisioned his hand wrapped around mine as I was flying the hundreds of miles north, he protected us from any danger on the road through Oregon and California, and he gave us the strength to discuss our fears and unknowns. The one little snafu to the whole trip (and there will always be one) was that when we arrived at mom's house at 5:00 (30 minutes before she was to be home), we realized that neither of us had a key to the house, and you can imagine how quickly we just wanted to get home! It had been at least two hours since our last "rest stop" visit, so we were very anxious to get inside (if you get my drift).... The evening ended magnificently with a dinner at mom and dad's favorite restaurant filled with laughter, much drinking, and love....
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