Drove Dad’s truck back home to Minneapolis after Mom died. It’s my truck now. 200,000+ miles and a lot of rough edges, but we gave it some love. Replaced the cap on the tailgate, new front valance (the plastic bottom half of the front bumper), new CarPlay stereo, cleaned what was cleanable, new brake pads, a few other fixes I’m not remembering.
It was good to have a project, something to keep us talking, working, focused.
I don’t know why but I just couldn’t bring myself to get on a plane and fly home after it all. Too simple, too sudden. I’d been in the house down there for weeks. Anchored. Waiting. Home felt like something I had to earn again.
Found one of Mom’s old cameras, a Nikon FunTouch 4, while helping Dad tidy. It’s nothing special. I don’t even remember it that well (I picture her more with the Canon Elph). But I felt drawn to it, so I took it. Picked up some film at Walgreens and tried to remember how film cameras work on the road back.
I spent half the trip full of adrenaline, the other half exhausted. Bad weather, worse roads, dumb drivers, dumber deer. It wasn’t fun. (I wasn’t in a mental place for fun anyway.) But it was right.