Leaving

So in these dreams
you are always leaving
your truck growing smaller
as I watch the sandy road
and forest swallow you up.

I thought the first dream
was a premonition
of your death,
but you stayed here
with us for
almost another month.

The second time I dreamed it,
just days before you died,
I saw someone in the cab
someone talking with you,
laughing, looking back at me
his hat askew on his head,
that mischievous grin of his
him smiling, saying:
"Come on J.T., let's go!"

It was a joke, y'all were leaving
on to new adventures without us
and before I could reach you,
calling out your names;
saying "Please wait, I'm coming,"
your truck would pull away
and then I realized Jack was there
in the truck bed
leaving with the two of you.
Of course, he would be.

It happens often now.
I close my eyes
and the images fills the
darkened screen of my eyelids,
you are leaving us...
going with him,
driving away down the dirt roads
you had traveled so many times.


I finally realized
it was meant to give comfort,
this recurring image of you leaving,
with someone you loved so much
in a vehicle and place
you loved so well,
and traveled so frequently.

Images to reassure me
you are at peace,
so I can let you go,
although the sadness lingers
and the grief fills up the emptiness
left behind with your passing.

But I can let you go...
knowing you two are together
forever wandering down dirt roads
looking for a deer,
or a fishing hole,
or checking a feeder.
Doing all the things
you both loved to do together.

Rose Steedley Williams
©Southernstoryteller~ 2012