Unexpectedly, the forecast is for some sun, one last time before Halloween.
Carpe this freakin’ diem, for sure.
We didn’t have a trail ride scheduled, so we got going early, and I had actually planned a route that could intersect with several “rustic roads,” and a few more days had passed for more leaves to turn, so this, I was sure, would finally be the day for the perfect fall excursion.
And the rustic roads did not disappoint. Out by Lake Geneva, then west and north, back east and north, hills, ponds, bowers of boughs over strips of smooth asphalt, like ribbons through the moraine. Hawks circling, big red barns, horses, cows and the occasional llama.
We stumbled upon a pristine local park right when we needed a bathroom, and although as usual the “bathroom” was an outhouse, it was the cleanest, freshest outhouse I’d ever had to use.
And the road signs were there, this way and that, to lead us down those rustic lanes and give me what I needed from October’s bright blue weather – a stress-free, no-anger, no-pain, no-yelling fall excursion.
And I want to believe he was with us, enjoying it along with us, this time, free from pain.
Our child has taken to repeating wistfully, “a day without Dad.” He’s been gone 14 months, but on the spectrum, processing time is individual, and often long.
And I say, “every day for the rest of our lives on this earth will be a day without Dad, sweetie, but never without his love. You remember what he said to you?”
“Dad’s love never ends.”
“That’s right. And I believe he’s here with us and he sends us little messages from the next world – the monarch butterflies, the Journey songs.”
Yes, Journey songs. Mike could sing just like Steve Perry – Really, high notes and all. And it was mostly a running joke for us three, whenever it came on the radio – “just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit….” But it was damn fun to sing along with, and they’re actually really good songs. And despite the haircut (c’mon, it was the ’70s), Steve Perry had an unmatched set of pipes. We will not hear his like again.
Except, for us, in our memory of Mike.
And our child has an uncanny knack of changing the radio station to land directly on a Journey song, repeatedly, during the day.
I know, I know, Journey has been resurfacing constantly since “Don’t Stop Believin'” but who cares why? To us, the impulse to change the radio station right now is a little signal from him, from the next world – change it now, you’ll get a little hello from me.
Faithfully. Separate Ways. Open Arms. “O-pen Ah-AHHH-Ahms!”
“It’s Dad!”
Yes, sweetie – a little message from Dad from the next world.
Up toward Waukesha, found the road with the farms. Pumpkins, corn stalks, gourds.
And this time, we ate at Taco Bell.
And it was good. Back on the road in plenty of time to enjoy the last of October’s bright blue weather, singing along to Journey, and with Mike.
Ridiculouswoman 