It's funny how in this life, the things you are working on, building, and maintaining can peel off like neat, parallel strands for such long periods of time. Months. Years, even. It all just works. Not by accident, but through diligence, good decisions, and a bit of good luck or fortuitous timing.
Then, sometimes lines cross, and the inevitable miniature disaster occurs. You know it - when you're counting on three things to go right, all at the same time? One of those. The wreckage piles up in just hours, though it seems like moments.
And then, something else funny happens. The strands get farther apart and become impossible to manage at the same time. Where it seemed that some things might overlap in a helpful knot or other construction at some point in the future, it's suddenly clear that it could never happen. It suddenly seems impossible. Sacrifice looms.
Because of a combination of situation, miscommunication and mistakes - and hopefully more of the former than the latter - I've not seen my wife or son for two weeks. Three years ago, when Amy was pregnant with Hank, I gave up a career on the road, and I guess I'd forgotten what that nightly isolation was like. Alone. Quiet. Every night. Every morning. Sure, as a busy husband and father, I'd now pay hundreds of dollars for a single day like that. But this is different. Day after day. Still busy. Still empty.
The house is empty and my truck is empty but for my own awful singing in the mornings. I am grateful for what I have. Grateful that I still have a life ahead of me to get all of those strands back in order, running out parallel once again. Work. Family. Outdoors. Health. God. Soon, my family will be home.
500 miles from Dad.