On the Road Again (But Not Like We Planned)

Through the years of child rearing, the Trucker and I were separated as much as together. Both of us were doing what we loved, while dealing with the pressures and deprivations of being apart. I tried to travel with him at least once a year, but didn’t always meet that goal. It was very difficult to find someone willing and free to take on four children, their schooling and assorted schedules and pets, for a week.

Now, at long last, we are there. Our home is empty. There is nothing to hold me there other than routine maintenance. What we hoped and dreamed would be a joyous time of reconnecting after launching our children into the world is now heavy with sadness and loss. Even life in the trucking world brings memories of the father that used to share this life but has now gone on to his reward.

Still, I travel with the Trucker when I can and when it is convenient for him. The reminder of what his life is like as he labors to support our family is helpful to me. And an understanding wife is helpful to him.

Many have asked if I plan to upgrade my license to a commercial one. Nope. At one time it was a desire. Reality settled that question. I don’t do well in cities, in heavy traffic, in judging distance. I drive to get somewhere, not for enjoyment. Driving is the Trucker’s life. He has 30+ years of knowledge and skills for life on the road under his overworked belt. He does not relinquish the wheel easily. Teaching is not his gift. Our relationship, like many, is stronger if we stay in our respective roles and support each other from there.

And so, I hold down the passenger seat. The Trucker has generously adapted his routine to make space in his box on wheels for me. A shelf in the bunk has been cleared for my belongings, and a cozy nook up front is mine. A small wooden stool rests my feet to ease back pain from continual sitting. It also props my bag of books, study material, and stitchery, preventing it from spilling when jolted. Little hooks thoughtfully attached to the passenger door (which is always locked and never used by me) hold my scissors and patterns, and a trash bag. A door pocket keeps my water bottle upright. A ledge onto which to clip my small light for after-dark activities is also on the door. My laptop lives in the Trucker’s briefcase behind my seat. A reach behind me procures a blanket and/or pillow for late night hours, or, two steps bring me to the bunk to stretch out.

Life on this truck is like camping on wheels. Space is tight. It is not for the perfectionist. Clothing, while nicely kept as possible, is practical, as you basically live in it for at least two days at a time. You use the facilities, not when you need ‘em, but when you find ‘em. Sleeping in when the wheels begin to roll under you in the morning means that when you need ‘em, they may be miles away. It means brushing your teeth in a public restroom, doing your hair in front of a tiny mirror in the dark bunk, or walking into the truckstop looking like something the cat remodeled and then discarded, before you can hit the restroom to repair damages. It means being organized and moving quickly, because stops are accomplished with a schedule in mind. The less I complicate the Trucker’s routine the easier for us both in our tight quarters.

Meal preparation, with the aid of a drop down shelf and a pint sized fridge and microwave, is accomplished while sitting on the bed. Brisk walks to renew circulation happen when the truck is being refueled, as long as there is a safe section of the lot within sight of the driver, and/or a grassy area the dogs have not already put to use.

What fills my time if I do not drive? Reading, to myself and aloud to include the Trucker. Books of his choosing, and of mine, as long as my voice holds up. Catching up on the accumulation of magazines, articles, etc. Discussing what we read. Conversation in general. Learning to know, again, the man who shares my life. Mending, though that need is not as great as in years past. Cross stitching, doing Scripture blessings for Christmas gifts at the moment. Study. Dear Son #2 brought me his manual for Inductive Bible Study from his training time, and also uploaded many of his notes from Potter’s Field IGNITE classes onto my laptop. A treasured gift. Plenty of time to think and pray. And enjoy the scenery. Worship in singing is a gift that has been denied me these last months, but I can praise God for the loveliness of His creation. I can also bring him the offering of my pain, fear and loss; this too is worship, for only He can carry it for me. And He does. This truck becomes a sanctuary where I meet God.