Finding My Way
“Hey kids, you wanna go to the park where Dad used to go to fly?” A resounding yes boomed back at me. We were spending a few days in the warmth and sunshine of Southern Utah near where we used to live, once the colder weather started where we live up North.
I wonder if I can remember how to get back there. I take the exit I remember, Exit 16. Yes, this is it. I just passed the gas station that Grant always used to fill up his truck. He was so proud of that truck and all the people that’d stop and say hello. Undoubtedly they would ask, “Are you the King of Random?”
‘Yes,’ you’d smile and sometimes you’d talk for hours, covering everything. You’d come home so excited to tell me who recognized you. I see the turn to go over to our community. I almost missed it, not totally sure at first and then totally sure as I passed familiar landmarks.
They had it marked way better where we used to turn for the shortcut that would take us to the old house. Either way we would go, works just fine, but the locals take the shortcut. I remembered it, past the pecan farm and the sod fields. They replaced the park sign too, I see as I pass it to go see the old house
The sky shines up at me from the reservoir water, beaming blue. I see the reservoir edge that you flew over every time you went, even till the very last time. We drove past the house just to go look and see it. I found it after only one wrong turn.
One street too soon, I used to turn too soon when we lived here too. It looks different, like something from a dream. I see all the houses I used to think were better than ours and wish we could go look at ours. I don’t think that the others are any better anymore.
As I drive past our old house, I now think it’s just as lovely as all the houses I once thought were better. I appreciate now what you saw then, but I didn’t at the time, not then. We pass it and I snap a quick side picture.
It’s not because I want to remember it per se, I just wanted to prove to myself that I was here and it was still there and that it exists. All this time I’ve spent trying to push it all away and this tells me that it won’t ever happen.
I drive on to the park with the boys and instantly begin to remember every moment from that night we lost you. The trauma wells up in my stomach as I remember driving along these very streets looking for you feeling frantic to see your face somewhere, anywhere.
Hmmm, they replaced the park sign too. As we arrive at the park, your spot is empty. Your truck is gone and no one is parked in your spot. I don’t park there this time either. The park looks so different. They’ve built new things to play on and it’s got a splash pad now.
They said it would be built. Now it is. The boys bounded out as I stopped. It feels like that was another lifetime ago. For me, it actually is a whole other life I had once. I get out of the car. I play with the kids.