Driving from my childhood home to the hospital takes about 4O minutes. Some say they can do the drive in 3O minutes but I haven't mastered that kind of record since I was in my 2Os. The ride is pure country. The long straight back roads I know by heart. The countryside is laced with stark naked orchards, barns, rice fields waiting for the rush of spring, and the distant Sierra mountains.
As we drive to the hospital early in the morning I watch the farms play dot to dot while stories of people and places flood my veins causing my heart to throb.
Home. The sky is different, the smell is different, the sounds are definitely different. It is sacred ground, it is freedom, it is my Homebase. It is part of the core of my being, it is me.
Over one hundred visitors have come to see my father in the hospital. A never-ending flow of hello-how's-your-father-how-are-you-thanks-for-coming-see-you-later-goodbye.
The countryside, the large family, the ache of my father's illness, the daily drive and to boot the car radio cranking out oldies is like an open flood gate of memories and feelings…I have used more than a few tissues to soak up my emotions these days.
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