I was driving home from our Mother/Daughter dance class a little while ago. I'd just gone through the McDonalds drive through for a coffee (for me) and a McMuffin (for Abby) and was a few minutes from home. My mind wandered a bit, and despite the absolutely gorgeous day about to unfold itself, the prevailing emotion was sadness.
As I drove along, I wondered about my life. My surviving kids' lives. Adam's life. Our life together. I wondered: Is my life just ruined? And if it is, is that okay? Will I learn to live with it?. I thought it might make a compelling blog entry, if I were ever able to fully answer those hard questions.
And then as I turned at a stop light, Lee Brice's I Drive Your Truck came on the radio. I turned it up. A lot. (So loud, in fact, that I almost turned around to apologize to Abby.) If you read my other blog, you know I wrote about it a month or two ago; how I relate to the message and the heartbreak and the need for release that it expresses so well.
So I sang the words with my heart. And I cried, like I usually do when I hear that song.
And then I saw our friends and neighbors at a stop sign, driving in the opposite direction. I stuck my arm out the window to wave hi.
At the next stop sign, a golden retriever, leash firmly in mouth, trotted by. And I smiled.
Then I heard a weird revving and rumbling from my back seat, but didn't think much of it.
And then a strange sensation came over me. I can't really describe it. But along with it came a chipper message:
And then the song ended. And the feeling faded. But it was Logan.
Why do I know? Because of the song and its timing; how it came just when I was wondering if my life would ever mean anything again. Because the neighbors across the street? They lost their mom and grandma not long before Logan passed. She was a wonderful woman and when I think about Logan, she's often there with him. And the dog? When Logan was young and overflowing with happiness, we called him our golden retriever. And this golden retriever was free, no leash holding him back. Like the choking leash that is cancer no longer holds Logan back.
And that revving and rumbling from my back seat? It came from a toy Lightning McQueen that one of the little boys left on the seat. I have no idea how long it'd been there because it'd been silent until this morning. And if there's one worldly thing that defines my sunshine, it's Cars.
I don't really have any good closing words for this so I guess I'll just end... here.