The one hundred mile block

Every trip back home to dad's I stop at the site of Ricky's accident. In the spring, I pick a flower, or a weed...whatever is flowering at the moment....and stick it on my dashboard, only to be replaced the next time I go through. This time the earth was brittle and all there was to pick were a few blades of brown grass, so I took a picture instead. It was 9 years this December that Ricky was snatched away from us....I miss him as much today, if not more, than I did the day we buried him. I often wonder what he would be like today....would he be married? Would he have children? What would he be doing? Who would HE be today? Not a day goes by that he doesn't cross my mind....our "song", "Fishin' in the Dark", still makes me laugh...and cry at the odd moment that it catches me off guard. Every now and again I can see the twinkle of his eye in the eyes of my own son. Ricky's been gone for nine shortly long years....but he is far from forgotten. My dad goes, I don't know how often, to the spot of his accident and paints the post in his memory. I am sure no one ever notices it, but every time I pass that "Golden Triangle" exit, it seems to me that it is painted in the brightest of pinks. The speed limit sign is almost mocking me. It's always as if I am driving in slow motion....even at 65 miles an hour. It's funny how a stretch of space....not even two blocks long....can be an eternity to someone who never made it past that speed limit sign.

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