by Steve Swartz
I was in 8th grade, home on Christmas vacation and still in
bed when I heard my mother answer the phone about 8 a.m. It was her brother
calling from Denver to tell us that their oldest brother, Jack, had died a few
hours earlier when the long-haul truck he was driving plowed into the back of
another truck parked on the side of a foggy Pennsylvania highway. Then I heard
my mother, needing more verification, call the trucking company to find out if
her brother had really been killed.
There had been no mistake.
It’s more than 40 years since we got that call, but I
believe that every Dec. 27th since I’ve thought about that morning. Uncle Jack
was my roommate for about five months between the time he took a job in Kansas
City and when his family moved out from California to join him. By the time he
moved out of the house, we were pretty good friends.
When I think about that morning, it’s not so much about how
I’ve always missed him, but more about all the things that never happened
because he didn’t come home from that trip. He didn’t come close to reaching
retirement when he could leave the road for the last time and enjoy living at
home for more than just a few days at a time. He didn’t get to attend
graduations, weddings or the births of his grandchildren and
great-grandchildren. He didn’t get to give advice or be a joker to his kids or
me or any of us.
He didn’t get to hold the hand of his wife, my oh-so-fun
aunt with the goofy name of Snooky, when she became confused with Alzheimer’s
disease. Nor did he get to comfort my cousins Kathy and John through their
health crises.
I’m not sure I ever knew what caused the crash. Was the
parked truck pulled all the way off the road? Did the fog make it hard to see?
Was Jack tired? It doesn’t matter.
If my old roommate could talk to me today, he might tell me
how he regrets not getting to do all the things he was supposed to do. And he
might tell me to think about that every time I get into a car.
Steve Swartz is the
Public Information Officer for KDOT
No comments:
Post a Comment