April 14th

Dear Mom,

I'm on my way home. Day before yesterday I was in our nation's capitol and in two more days I'll be back in Colorado getting everything prepared for Hawaii.

I hadn't realized how much I'd lollygagged and left so many states for the last minute. It's disappointing to have to rush, but it gives me something to look forward to for my next road trip. Even if this has been a long one, and I'll be glad to be settled somewhere, it's been an adventure worth having. I wouldn't mind taking many shorter trips in the future.

I think I'm adding the Louisville Mega Cavern to my bucket list. I keep seeing signs for it, and it looks like so much fun.

I'm out of Kentucky now, and working my way through the hills in southern Missouri. It's amazing to me how every state has something worth seeing. Even the ones you only hear complaints about.

I say that, but Kansas is next and I'm dreading it a bit. It wouldn't be so bad, but Salina is the only good place to stay and if you find a place there, then you don't reach Denver the next day till right around sunset and the sun always shines right into your eyes.

I'm thinking I'll just wait until it's dark and then start the drive across Kansas. It will also help that I'll only have the big trucks to contend with on the road.

I know I promised not to waste any more of this road trip in the dark, but I've seen Kansas before, and the lack of sun in my eyes at the end of the day will make it more than worthwhile.

There's a lump in my throat as I drive today, Mom. I'm scared. I'm scared of letting you go, scared I might lose some part of who I've become.

I'm scared still at the thought that I'll never hear your voice talking to me again.

I don't want to go the rest of the weary road without you, but I know I have no choice. When I look around at the humans who people my world and the wonderful experiences I've had and am looking forward to, I love my life. I just hate that you're not in it anymore.

I wonder if the darkness of this past year will make the brightness in my future shine more than it would have otherwise. If having been through the valley makes the mountaintop that much better. Silver linings don’t make the clouds disappear, they just help make them more palatable, right?

Speaking of silver linings, the sun is about thirty minutes from setting and it’s been stormy all day. The cloud cover doesn’t reach all the way to the horizon though, and the sun is shining across the land beneath the deep gray of the rain clouds.

There’s a huge double rainbow stretching across the sky, close enough I could almost reach it if I jumped in my car and started driving.

If I believed in good omens, this would be one. Portents of a happy future. Perhaps even a message from you, saying that life goes on, and there is beauty and hope to be found for those who seek it.

I don’t believe any of that, but I do believe that even in the deepest storms, you can look forward to the rainbow at the end. Enjoy the beauty despite the pain, and maybe even a bit more because of the pain. If nothing else, it was a lovely reminder of your love for me and the fact that though you’re gone I’m not alone.

Dad’s been calling me every night and messaging me throughout the day with his updates for the trip and to tell me how excited he is to be traveling with me.

It’s made me start to think that maybe all those years when you and I were planning our road trip, he wanted to be a part of it. Maybe not the whole thing, he’s too much of a home body for that, but a few weeks of adventuring together would have been good for us, and would have made him happy.

I’m glad to be able to make him happy now, and it’s a plus that I’m also really looking forward to seeing Hawaii with him. I have been giving myself a stern talking to about my propensity to think about how things could or should be instead of just enjoying how things are.

We’d planned a grand finale in Hawaii and that’s what this will be. It just won’t be with you. We’ll miss you, but I cannot spend the rest of my life regretting the things we missed. It would put a drop of poison into every experience and wouldn’t be right to your memory or my future.

I can’t help remembering the last time I was in Missouri and my epic meltdown that resulted in me finally calling Jasper.

It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life, but it’s led to such a beautiful relationship with my Jasper, I’m grateful it happened. As much as I’m excited to travel to Hawaii with Dad and endure this final goodbye with him, the fact Jasper will be there has my heart racing a little and I feel a bit less like crying when I remember I’ll be able to hold his hand while I let you go.

I’m going to try to really let you go. Let my hopes and expectations that no longer can be fulfilled go forever. No more letters, no more shoe box filled with you. Just beautiful and hurtful memories, acknowledging the arguments and anger as much as I remember the times you comforted and held me.

One more letter, I think, because I must have resolution. I know you won’t mind me ending this letter writing and it’s probably time for me to engage a little more with the living people around me.

My heart still breaks with missing you.

I love you.

Bo