There and Back Again

Going Home

You always like to go home, even when it’s for the wrong reason. Normally, when you are going to visit loved ones, you hope that you will find everyone well and prosperous with bright prospects for the future. Sometimes that is not possible, you make the trip because one whom you loved dearly has departed, and you must go to pay your respects. But you still like to go home, because you will see those who remain and whom you also love dearly. I cherish the bond that can only come from the closeness of kinship. The closer the kinship, the tighter the bond. It is almost on parallell with faith in God, that invisible connection that compels you to want to be in their presence. Family is everything to me.

When you lose a loved one, you don’t really have a choice on the timing. You have to fit your schedule into the pre-arranged  funeral plans, and in this case, they were extensive. The cancer had finally worked it’s evil fingers into my brother Mike’s vital organs and robbed him of his final days of relaxation and pleasure in the desert sun of Arizona. When he should have been enjoying a much deserved life of leisure, he was pressed to the brink of survival and then pushed into eternity. He deserved better, but like all of us, he was not in control of the outcome.

He prepared for the inevitability of life and made the hard choices that are often left to the survivors. Mike was a planner and he worked out the minute details of a complicated burial arrangement that included Church services in Glendale, AZ and then another in Dallas before interment in the DFW National Cemetery in Grand Prairie, TX. This encompassed a period of 10-14 days to achieve. His wife Cynthia still had to make many decisions, but the hard choices had already been laid out. Though I was not a part of any of these arangements, I have recently been involved with other family members forced to confront these difficult decisions. I know it is not easy, but it certainly is less challenging when pre-arrangements have been made. Such as it was, Mike’s journey would take the better part of two weeks to accomplish. None of his kinship, except his wife, was in Arizona so the service there was for business acquaintances, fellow retirees and friends from the local church and Knights of Columbus organization.  His kin would be at the service in Dallas.

The real challenge was getting on the schedule for burial at DFW National Cemetery. It is a typical bureaucratic process requiring coordination from the local mortuary and following all the stipulations of the federal government. The first celebration of his life was completed in Glendale and then Mike was accompanied on his final 1100 mile journey by a fellow serviceman to Dallas. Upon arrival, arrangements were finally determined to schedule the sacraments at the church in Dallas.  The graveside service at DFW National Cemetery would be the following week. And thus began my preparations for the long trek that I would take to honor my brother and rekindle my bonds with my family.

Mike had asked Cynthia to have me deliver a eulogy in his behalf. The burden and the honor weighed heavily on my heart, but I prayed for God to strengthen my emotions and guide me to say the right words. My heart was heavy with grief and though I had sung at funerals, I had never worded a eulogy before.  I had no desire to speak at the funeral, but I would honor my brother’s request.

My wife Cheryl and I determined to drive the almost 1200 miles from Greensboro, NC to Dallas. With the two of us swapping out on driving, we should have been able to make the drive in about 20 hours. We also had to crate our two yorkies and take them with us. It was the first week in March and though winter storms and rain appeared likely on the northern route, the southern route looked like a more agreeable option. I called my granddaughter in Asheville and asked if she would like to accompany us on the journey. She welcomed the opportunity to visit her Mom and other family members in Texas. She arranged to have a friend take her to a stop near Charlotte, so we could pick her up enroute. I serviced the car and worked on the eulogy, eventually re-writing it a half dozen times. Finally, God gave me peace that I had the right words, it would be a question of whether I could deliver them honorably.

Cheryl and I determined to leave early on a Tuesday morning, pick up Taylor at Gastonia and spin down our path to Texas by midnight. Our destination was Burleson, TX where my other brother Ted lives. He advised that the weather was holding good but a front was expected late in the night. We managed to avoid the early morning rush in Charlotte and cruised through the non-rush hour traffic on the Atlanta perimeter loop. By the time we reached Alabama we ran into some occasional rain but we were making good time. I was alert, so Cheryl let me drive to South Carolina before she took a turn at driving. She continued through Georgia and Alabama and then I resumed driving in Mississippi. We hit the first rains around Jackson and as darkness fell, the storms became heavier and our pace was slowed significantly. After filling up in Shreveport, we drove into very heavy bands of showers and the traffic moved forward at a snail’s pace. Cars were pulled over because they couldn’t see adequately through the blinding rain.

In addition, our weather access on our phones was warning that the DFW Metroplex was under a winter snow advisory. Strange that we had picked the southern route, but the gods of winter had reached down as if to show us that we couldn’t escape. As we drove through Marshall and Longview, I suggested that maybe we should get a room and wait out the storm. We decided that we were so near that even if the weather turned worse, we could get accomodations in the Dallas area.

As midnight approached, we arrived on the eastern outskirts of Dallas, just as the snow began. It was light at first, but as the temperatures dropped it became a blinding blizzard whipped along by 25-30 mile per hour winds. It was pitch black, the highway disappeared and the snow began to freeze on the windshield wipers. I could only tell where the road bed was by the bridge guard rails. My speed was reduced to under 20 mph. Cars were peeling off right and left but we were only 40 miles from Ted’s house, and we had already traveled 1100 miles. I pulled over and put the SUV into 4-wheel drive and then I managed to get behind an 18 wheeler and drive in his ruts through the snow. As he plunged into the teeth of the storm, I managed to maneuver behind him as a running back behind a lead blocker. I silently prayed that he would continue to the same place I was going. It was not to be. After a few miles, he too turned off to escape the storm. Now I peered into blinding snow and a carpet of white covering what had been an interstate highway. Though the defroster was working at top speed, the wipers were covered in a thick layer of ice and my vision through the windshield was becoming more obscured.

It became very quiet in the car, like a group of monks in a monastary. I think maybe we were all holding our breaths and afraid to breathe. I made an executive decision and it was not necessarily the wisest choice; I turned off at the very next exit because I couldn’t see the road. I crawled along the narrow channel that suddenly elevated to one of those infamous Texas single lane bridges that remind you of a Six Flags roller coaster. The further we travelled, the higher the bridge elevated and the more vicious the storm became.  At the pinnacle of the bridge I repeatedly muttered, “This is not good……This is….. not good”, but there was nowhere to stop. Cheryl and Taylor silently gazed out the windows and estimated how far we would drop before we crashed. The whiteout continued with nothing but blinding snow and the wind whistling around the SUV. Finally we crested and began the downslope to wherever this road led. The first thing I found was a fast food place that was locked up tight, but I was able to pull into the parking lot and beat the ice off the wipers. This helped to drive a couple of blocks and discover a convenience store where I could top off the gas tank.

By now it was after 1am and we were obviously not going to make the last 35 miles to Ted’s house, so I drove through the virgin snow of the parking lot to the entrance of a Best Western Inn. I couldn’t get under the sheltered entrance, but I pulled the front of the SUV into shelter and Taylor and I eagerly jumped out of the car. I think we were just grateful to be off the bridge and safely on the ground again. The night manager advised us that he and every other motel/hotel in S Dallas were full and had no vacancy. I asked if we could stay in his lobby and he said no, but we could come and use the rest rooms or get coffee as we needed. I thanked him and went back to share this exiciting news with Cheryl who was still with the dogs in the car. Now it was 2am and needless to say, we were all exhausted in every way. I again made an executive decision to ride out the storm, and the night, right where we were. We would sleep in the car and use the facilities as generously offered. Having just filled up the tank, I kept the car heated with frequent engine crankups at half hour intervals. I don’t know if any of us really slept, but we managed something akin to rest over the next four hours.

The sun rose brilliantly, the snow had stopped in the night,  we could see, so we decided to venture back on our journey. We scheduled a rendevous with Taylor’s Mom and she picked up our precious cargo and took her home. Cheryl and I wandered through a malaise of snow covered streets and eventually  landed back on the interstate headed for Ted’s house. We finally reached Burleson around 8am. We said our greetings and then excused ourselves to pass out and recoup some lost sleep. It had been a rather long adventurous journey and we were thankful that we weren’t in a snowbank in S Dallas.

The funeral service was the following day so we were able to rest adequately and plan for the poignant ending to my brother’s sojourn. The church service was mid-morning and the graveside service was scheduled for early afternoon. Catholic sacraments are a beautifully orchestrated pageant that elequently tie our carnal nature to the infinite nature of an eternal God. I was touched by the simple beauty and the majestic performance of the sacraments.

God answered my prayers and gave me the grace to speak the words on my heart.  I hope that those whom I love were comforted as I shared fond memories of my brother Mike. We bade our brother goodbye and then shared fellowship with those who remain and we love dearly. (Betty Joyce, Steve and Elaine’s travails to get to the funeral is another story that should be told) The graveside service was touching and filled with honor for one who served his country during a time of war. The National Cemetery is a beautiful setting that teems with respect for the honorable dead. I am happy that he is there, and deservably so. His voyage was complete, may he rest in peace.

We stayed an extra day so we could visit with Mendy & Taylor, Darren & Kristofer, David & Kodi and three of their children. The little ones grow so fast and our visits are infrequent. Ted’s and Fay’s daughters dropped by and we all enjoyed fellowship with family. After a few hours, we bade them goodbye with hugs and kisses and waved as they drove away. It was not home, and it was not for the right reasons, but it was a great visit, even under the circumstances.

The following morning we packed up the dogs and picked up Taylor from Mendy on the interstate near where we were stranded for the night. It was a beautiful sunny day and there was no trace of snow anywhere. We left early in the morning and started the reverse migration. East Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina and then North Carolina. This time we took Taylor back to Asheville. I started driving and then switched off with Cheryl in Louisiana and she drove the rest of the way home. The return trip was lengthened by a couple of hours as we routed from South Carolina through Asheville. By the time we arrived in Greensboro, we had been on the road for almost 24 hours. It was all we could do to keep each other awake. Finally we made it back home; It had been a long, long journey that drained every aspect of our beings, physically and emotionally.

But isn’t that what life is. A series of journeys that we carefully orchestrate and then God steps in and throws a curve ball when we were expecting a fastball. We go from month to month and year to year thinking that we have it figured out. We know what life is all about, we know what’s around the corner, we know how to deal with our adversity. But we don’t. I think the beauty of life is not knowing what is ahead, not knowing what lies beyond the bend, not knowing what God has in store for us. The real beauty is trusting God to lead us when we are blinded in a snow storm, trusting Him to give us the strength to finish the journey, trusting Him to give us the important words to say when they need to be said. Whether it be a jaunt across the globe or a lifelong passage to our heavenly home, our lives are a long, long journey that end with going home. Home, where our loved ones wait for us, where eternity beckons us to sit at the Father’s feet. You always like to go home.

For there are two heavens, sweet,

Both made of love, - one, inconceivable

Ev’n by the other, so divine it is;

The other, far on this side of the stars,

By men called home.

-          Leigh Hunt   -

Hebrews 13:14

II Corinthians 5:6-8

Written by David Warbritton expressly for the Warbritton family.