It’s time to pull over and park this moving memory.
He’s driving down the street with the window down, his sleeves are short and the left arm is browner than the right. His Raleighs or Pall Malls are residing in his shirt pocket nestled next to a book of matches from the last truck stop he visited. He’s on his way to some destination, meeting his friend Butch Hobbs or some one else in the trucking business. He pulls in professional like across the stone gravel parking lot, with stones popping and crackling, coming to a smooth stop.. It’s time to grab the smokes, he has lots to talk about………
Dad, just like mom, I feel like I’ve exhausted all I know to say about you, some times I cannot put into words all I still have to say, this has been cathartic in my need to share to the world how wonderful I thought you were and how much I dearly miss you. But like all things it must end.
I’ve put the gear in park, if I smoked, the smokes would be put away, and my feet up. It’s personal now, no more sharing.
With a tip of the hat, a finger to the head in a salute, I bid you ..good bye…
and don’t forget …….I will always be bustersdaughter remembering………..
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