Packing seemed to go in slow motion. Part of me wanted to scream at Brian to hurry and part of me knew we were a 5 hour drive away. Either make it or we wouldn't and the extra 15 minutes wouldn't make a difference.

In the car we drove in complete silence. Part of me kept thinking, This is ridiculous. Dad will be fine. Dad is always fine. He's like a cat that falls off the roof ever couple of years and everyone says he's probably a goner, but then there he is without a scratch on him.

Today was not one of those days. We weren't even half way there when my sister called my cell again.

"Did mom call you?" she said. Her voice was shaking and I knew she didn't have good news.
"No, no I haven't heard from her."
"Well, I need to tell you then that Dad is....He gone. Dad has passed away." She let out a slow sob."I'm so sorry," she said, "I'm just not used to saying that out loud."

I don't actually remember what I said next. Pretty sure that I told her I loved her and to sit tight, I'd be there soon. I hung up the phone and turned to Brian. His face was creased with concern. "Dad's gone," I said, "can we please pull over."

Brian apparently didn't quite get that when I said pull over I meant, "right this fucking second," and it was a good five minute of me starting to freak out before he finally took an off ramp. I got out of the car and gulped down fresh air; tears running down my cheeks. We were practically in the middle of no where, parked on the edge of a cornfield and an orchard. It was actually a stunningly beautiful spring day. Brian put his arms around me and we cried together.

When we got back in the car, we decided our rush was over and we needed to get food. Neither of us had eaten anything that day and we're both rather miserable bastards when our blood sugar is low. We stopped at a little restaurant in Cottage Grove called The Vintage Inn. I managed to eat some french toast I think.

Feeling slightly more like humans, we got back on the road south.