Our family is blessed with health. Neither one of us has ever had an affliction that couldn’t be cured with antibiotics. Both the kids are remarkably healthy, too. They had the regular little kid illnesses, ear aches and snotty noses, but they’re hale and hearty for the most part. Being in the medical field, I know how very lucky we are. I’ve worked with and known many families who seem like they can’t catch a break when it comes to being sick. One of our closest and dearest friends lost her husband, mother and dog to cancer in a three-year span. I thank the good Lord every day for our health.
Truck drivers don’t get sick days, nor do they have the luxury of being able to be off work to take care of sick people in their family. The freight and people who consume it never take a day off and don’t care if the trucker who brings it to them is coughing up lungers the whole way to the warehouse. It’s the way of the world. Consumerism is what keeps them working — no matter what.
My husband and I were discussing that our parents are getting older, and there is a distinct possibility we may have to take care of them one day.
“You can take your Dad, and I’ll take your Mom. It’ll be easy to take care of Dad. You can set him up a little hospital bed in the back of the truck and drive him around to collect dirt. He’ll die a happy man.”
“Pfft. By the time Dad needs to be taken care of, he’ll have collected dirt from everywhere and will probably be collecting the toenails of African orphans. I’ll be stuck driving around the Serengeti, looking for orphans while he pinpoints us on Google Earth.”
“It’s OK. You’ll have fun. I’ll stay here with your Mom, we’ll buy art glass on eBay and look at houses we want to live in on the internet.”
“Who’s going to pay for all this?”
“I’m sure there’s freight in Africa.”
“Wait a minute, let me get this straight. You get to stay here with Mom while I collect orphan toenails for Dad and fund this whole operation by driving a truck in Africa? No. I don’t think so. Not a fair distribution of work there, babe.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll work my fingers to the bone making iced coffee and walking to the mailbox. I don’t even know how to Pinterest, I’ll have to learn. It’ll be difficult, but I’ll do it for you. I love your parents that much.”
“Well I’m sure they’ll appreciate your sacrifice.”
On March 18, Weddle’s trailer crossed over the centerline of the highway, ...