I Drove 19 Hours Just to Embrace My Parents

There’s a poignant song from 1988 called “The Living Years” by Mike + The Mechanics that tugs at my heartstrings every time it plays. Written from the perspective of a son reflecting on the loss of his father, the lyrics convey his regrets over unspoken words and unresolved disagreements. Although I don’t hear it often, the melody echoes in my mind long after it ends, leaving me with a deep yearning to hug my parents, who live miles away.

Every year, my son and I spend a month in Indiana with them. My sister brings her family too, and we swim, visit Lake Michigan, and gather for meals on the screened-in porch. It’s the same porch and house my parents have cherished since I was a child, and each time I enter, I am enveloped by feelings of love and belonging. The soundtrack of my childhood accompanies us throughout our stay.

This past summer was particularly unusual—everything felt uncertain and air travel was off the table, especially with my parents now in their 70s. I asked them if they still wanted us to visit, and their enthusiastic “yes” filled me with joy. We discussed safety protocols, and they were aware of how cautious we had been in the months leading up to our trip. The only remaining question was whether I could handle a 19-hour drive from Texas to Indiana with my son in just two days; we were determined to make it work.

My grandfather, born in 1898, was a remarkable figure in my life. He was 45 when my dad came into the world and 72 when I was born. He lived through significant historical events, including the Spanish Flu, the Great Depression, and both World Wars. I knew he had grown up on a farm as the son of Dutch immigrants who settled in New Jersey to build a new life.

I only saw my grandparents once or twice a year, and I can still hear my grandfather’s warm laughter and picture him in his usual attire—pants, a button-up shirt, and dress shoes. He always had a roll of Pep-O-Mint Life Savers in his pocket. We played cards instead of asking him questions, as most kids do, and it wasn’t until he and my grandmother passed away when I was 16 that I realized how much I wished I had learned from them. I didn’t want my son to experience that same regret.

So, we folded down the seats in our minivan and packed it with everything we might need, including a portable potty. I wanted to minimize any risk by avoiding gas stations or truck stops during those early quarantine days. You wouldn’t believe the number of stuffed animals we brought along! When we fly, we have to pack light, but in the van, it felt like we had opened a toy store. My 10-year-old kept busy with his Nintendo classic and iPad, while I kept an eye on the clock and called for breaks to read, play with toys, or just to gaze out the window at America.

I’ve learned over the years that the journey can be just as important as the destination. It’s not about how quickly you arrive, but the experiences you gather along the way. We engaged in conversations about gaming, politics, movies, and music, and even stopped at Dinosaur World in Kentucky on our way home.

As we approached Elkhart, we cheered—not only because the driving was almost over, but because we were about to be reunited with family. Masked and sticking to outdoor activities, we still enjoyed some of our favorite local spots. Though we missed the 4-H fair, we picked blueberries, and since we couldn’t dine inside at Redamak’s, my sister and I created a picnic in the back of the van. We adapted and had a wonderful time.

We are grateful for the opportunity to make this trip and for our health. All the planning and precautions paid off; there’s truly nothing like a hug from Mom and Dad.

This article was originally published on November 6, 2020.

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