(Reposted from Coming Down the Mountain, where I’m posting new stories through the month of April.)

After my husband Bruce died, I wanted to run away and walk the earth. Or as a normal person would say—travel. I was lost, confused, damaged, cut in half. Not normal. My first choice was to join him on the Other Side. I couldn’t have my first choice. 

Anywhere I went those early months, I wanted to leave. I hurried from the apartment to the car to the grocery store; hurried through the aisles and checkout line back to the car, back to my apartment. No matter where I was, I didn’t want to be there. 

Two months after the funeral, I drove my little car to Southern California for my daughter’s birthday. Her husband was in Guatemala as he so often was in those days. I didn’t like the idea of her being alone on her birthday so soon after her dad’s passing. 

I set off from my son and daughter-in-law’s house in St. George, only a six-hour drive from LA. South of town, the freeway was down to one lane each way due to construction. I called my daughter to tell her I might be delayed. 

“That shouldn’t make any difference, Mom. Once you get past it, you’ll make good time. You’ll get to Vegas well past morning rush hour. There won’t be traffic between Vegas and LA since it’s a Wednesday.”

“I hope so,” I told her. “I can’t drive in the dark because of night blindness.”“Oh, you’ll be here before dark, no problem. Call me when you hit Vegas.” 

Sally had driven this route countless times and knew her business. Her confidence made me think it would take no time at all. Mentally, I turned it into a four-hour drive. Once I get past Vegas, I think, I’ll drive through a few mountains and outlying cities in California, then LA, and I’m there. 

Sally lived in Torrance, “right off the 405,” she said cheerfully. 

What a breeze, I think, as I zoom along on Interstate 15. I settled into my own thoughts, missing Bruce and wishing he were at the wheel like always. He loved to drive, and I enjoy the passenger seat if the trip isn’t too long. Truthfully though, I am no fan of road trips. Sitting forever in a car is uncomfortable.

I stopped often at the shining gas stations with their spacious restrooms and enticing lines of snacks and sodas. I liked seeing the other travelers in their family groups, the retired couples, or occasionally a single person like me. Everyone seemed glad to be going somewhere, perhaps on their way back and looking forward to relaxing at last in their own home. 

On the road, I listened to the CD recording of Bruce’s funeral, hearing the hymns he loved that I chose for opening and closing songs. Enjoyed once again the remarks of our ten children, speaking for just three to five minutes as I’d requested. Not one of them went over the time limit. 

Bruce’s closed casket had been at the front of the chapel, centered below the podium and covered with a magnificent spray of flowers in autumn colors created by our son-in-law Rob. He had registered with the state as a florist so that he could purchase his selections for the flower arrangements at the florist discount. 

I imagined Bruce standing near the casket, filled with love for each family member there in the front rows of the chapel, and for the many friends who had come to the service. He must have been bursting with a father’s pride as his children, from oldest to youngest, took their turns at the podium to share favorite memories of their dad. 

Driving, reflecting, crying, and stopping for breaks as I zoomed through Vegas. Sally thought I was late reaching it but said, “You’ll make better time once you get through the city.” 

Nevada is awful to drive through. Ugly, boring landscape and seems to take forever. Finally, I crossed into California. 

As the sun dropped in the sky, it bothered my eyes. I squinted through my sunglasses and slowed down, feeling nervous and vulnerable. By four or five, I had enough of the blinding western horizon. I passed a motel in Barstow and turned in to see about a room. 

Checked in, I lay down in the cool, dim room and closed my eyes. When I felt better, I called Sally. 

“Where are you, Mom? Have you hit the 405 yet?”“I’m in Barstow.”

“What? That’s all the farther you ? I figured you’d be here by now, especially with gaining an hour.”

“Well, there was traffic remember.”

“Where, in Vegas?”

“No, St. George. The construction that slowed me down outside of town.”

“Oh, that. When did you get to Vegas again?”

“Around noon.”

“Noon Utah time or Vegas time?”

“Utah time. I looked at my watch.”

 “That’s only eleven Nevada time. I can’t believe it’s after five and you’ve only made it as far as Barstow. You’re still two and a half hours away from Torrance. That’s nine hours to make a six-hour trip, or seven if you don’t consider the time change. What have you been doing?” 

“Driving. And stopping a lot.”

She laughed. “Mom, you must have stopped at every gas station along the way.”

“I’m not used to driving long distances. Dad was always the one who drove.”“Mom, nobody takes two days to make that trip.” She was laughing like it was the biggest joke.

“Well, I guess I do. The sun was in my eyes, and it made me tired. So I stopped for the night.”

“Okay. I was super excited about seeing you today, but I guess it will be tomorrow. If you get on the road around eight, you’ll miss morning rush hour.”

“I’ll make good time tomorrow for sure. I always have more energy in the mornings.”

“Okay, Mom. I’ll see you then. Call me when you leave, and when you hit the 405.”

In the morning, I felt rested and glad I stopped. Plus, it gave Sally a story to tell, about how her mom took two days to drive from St. George to LA. 

At her apartment, we lay around with the cats for two days. We cooked and ate, watched our favorite British mysteries on Netflix, napped in the afternoons, went to bed early. Except for the cooking part, we kept the same schedule as her three cats.

I had planned to leave on the third day but didn’t want to go so soon. That restless energy pushing me to flee, to go on to the next thing, was gone. “I don’t feel like leaving tomorrow,” I said. 

“Why should you? What else do you have going on, and besides I have the time off. You might as well stay until Thursday when I go back to work.”

I decided to stay. After all, I loved laying around like a relaxed cat with my daughter in her one-bedroom cluttered apartment. I slept on a mat in the corner of the living room, and I could not have been happier. For once, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.