Safe at Home

On Tuesday, we were expecting my son Andrew, his wife Renee, and their two children Celine and Moriah to be transferring their home from Amarillo, Texas to a location in southwest Pennsylvania. He with the help of Renee decided to accept an employment position closer to me and his two sisters.

We knew they planned to leave Sunday. I was sure that they would go to church services first to say goodbye to their friends and fellow church goers. They got a late start and didn’t cover as much ground as they expected. The 16 foot box truck lumbered along, bringing them closer, but we became anxious, wanting them back home and safe. They didn’t call to share their progress until they hit Indiana and probably wouldn’t have said anything without the constant prodding of his sisters.

It was the last leg of their journey to the new beginning of their life. We knew that they would be home sometime Tuesday, but we weren’t sure just when. By reckoning the miles that remained between us and them, we imagined that it would be later in the evening when they arrived. We gathered at my older daughter Amanda’s to wait. Amanda and Eric graciously allowed them to stay with them until they could finish the inspection and sign the contract on their home.

The evening grew darker and a text said they were in West Virginia. Tension grew. They were much closer now. Every sound drew someone to the window or door, thinking maybe they were nearer and planned to surprise us, but no and the time dragged. Eight, nine, ten, the hands on the clock never seemed to move so slowly.

Finally, I could not stand the confines of the room and walked out onto the back porch for the fresh air. We’d been talking in whispers to allow my granddaughter Hannah to sleep. My daughters joined me. We could talk and not fear waking Hannah.

Each traffic sound called to us, but it wasn’t the answer that we sought. Finally the roar of a large truck called to us. It was them. The caravan had finally arrived, my son in the box truck, towing the family car. Following close behind was Renee driving their Suburban with another trailer behind. Anna, saw what was on the second trailer and began to cry. It was the Chevy pick-up truck that belonged to my father-in-law, Bud Morrison. It had been taken to Texas on their first move and now, it now returned with the family, reunited.