Mom and I were driving machines. We would blast oldies and dance and drive and drive and drive. Ohio was not our final stop, nor was Buffalo, NY (where her best friend Rebecca lived). These were just stops along the way. We would drive until we got all the way to our cottage in Canada. It was there that we would finally rest and put our feet up and enjoy our secluded family hideaway. This was my reality for every summer until I graduated high school. We would pick up co-captains along the journey. My Nana, my cousin Nancy, my great aunt Nellie, but mom and I were the constant travelers. Driving partners for life.
When I visit mom she still asks if we can take off on a drive together. If we can get in the car and just go. There is promise in the open road and the smell of dew and sleepiness. Mom and I are on journeys of our own now. I hope that at the end there will be a place that we can both put up our feet and rest.