<HONEA EXPRESS: And the Days You Can't Miss
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It finally happened. Honea Express has moved to greener pastures, or possibly just out to pasture -- you make the call.

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Tuesday, June 16, 2009

And the Days You Can't Miss

I landed in Seattle at 10:30 on Sunday morning. It was Atticus' 6th birthday. I had been up since 4:30 and slept little on the plane. I hadn't had any coffee.

24 hours earlier I had been holding the hand of my aunt on one side and my sister on the other. I stared at crosses and through a window and into the eyes of my father at the podium, alone and crying. His pain was loss and loneliness.

My grandfather was behind me. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at anyone, but especially not him. Swimming in a sea of heartache is for country songs and bad poetry. There is no comfort there.

My grandfather was behind me and his pain was loss and loneliness.

24 hours earlier I had been drinking terrible coffee on a plane somewhere over someone else drinking coffee, hopefully better. I had been up since 4:30 and slept little the night before. I hadn't eaten anything.

Arizona in June is helpless and hopeless. It is hell with less trees. The earth peels in every direction and the wind slaps you with lies and hot air. There is no comfort there.

It is hotter in the sadness.

I landed in Seattle at 10:30 on Sunday morning. It was Atticus' 6th birthday. I hugged him and his brother and asked if he was ready to celebrate.

He was.



Happy Birthday, Son.

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