It has been two months since I contemplated quitting my truck driver job with Saxon Brothers Trucking because a dispatcher tried to force me on a load to New York City and miss my wedding anniversary for the third straight year.

This job is harder than I thought, at least for a family man. I haven’t been home in three weeks, probably because I didn’t take that damn New York load. Jerry the dispatcher has been rather cool toward me since then and I suspect he hasn’t been trying very hard to get me home. I know he caught hell from Gary, the operations manager over that incident. But my wife, Kim, is also chaffing because I’m gone so much. I miss our daughter, Gretchen.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being an over-the-road trucker and Saxon Brothers is a great company to drive for. I’m just having trouble adjusting to being gone for so long.

I’m sitting at a truckstop people-watching while I wait to hear something from operations. You can’t believe what you might see on the back side of truckstops. A transvestite has propositioned me already. Down a couple of trucks to my left is a pimp hawking girls, while to my right is a drug dealer working his way toward me. In the next row behind me is a van that says “Love Jesus” in four foot letters and it appears a traveling minister is going from truck to truck to spread the gospel. Up closer to the back of the kitchen three people are standing outside smoking – they all look like they could be the after photo for an American Cancer Society commercial. I’m judgmental like that, I know it.

This morning I unloaded at a Gibson guitar factory in Nashville Tennessee and am waiting for instructions for my next load. I brought in a load of mahogany wood from the Gibson plant in Montana that had been shipped there by mistake. I bet that mistake cost somebody a fortune. Anyway after they unload me I parked the truck in their yard and went on a tour of the plant to see how they make their famous guitars. I would have bought a guitar if I could have afforded it. But these are the kinds of events that I find so special about this job – a chance to see things I would probably not get to see.

Another time I delivered to Cleveland Ohio and after my load was taken off the trailer, I parked the truck and took an Uber over to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, another event I would probably never had the opportunity to see. It was kind of underwhelming if you were to ask me – there is so many bands in there that play junk music while other acts are excluded, probably for political reasons. Any hall of fame that does not include Gregg Allman, Bachman Turner Overdrive, Bad Company, or Foghat and yet includes Nine Inch Nails and Nina Simone is not a good barometer of good bands.

Afterwards, when operations didn’t have a load for me out of Cleveland, I drove down to Canton Ohio, parked at a truckstop and took an Uber to the Football Hall of Fame. And another time, I was in Atlanta, so I went for a tour of the Coca Cola plant.

But these opportunities don’t come very often. Usually, as soon as a trucker is unloaded, they have to beat feet over to their reload or are in the middle of nowhere and have to “layover” the night to get the next load instructions. Broke down in Provo Utah is no place to be on a Saturday night.

So do I give up driving a truck and get a job that assures I will be home every night? I fear it won’t pay as much as I made $86,000 last year and am on pace to make more this year for staying on the road so much. Kim is a part-time librarian and doesn’t make much, but between the two of us, we’re knocking down over a hundred thousand a year.

I’m just not sure what to do and the decision weighs on me night and day. I’ve talked to Gary about it and he keeps telling me to hang in there, sales is working on some local shuttle work between Ft. Worth and Dallas, so if they get the job, he will assign me to the lane. That was over a month ago and he’s still telling me the same thing. I don’t think he is lying to me about it, but it his job to make us truckers happy so he might be talking it too much.

While I am contemplating my plight, the red light appears on the satellite indicating there is a message for me. It will either be instructions for the next load or to tell me they haven’t found anything yet and I might start preparing to stay the night. I reach over and click the messages on only to find a cryptic message – I am to call home immediately.

‘This can’t be good.’ I think to myself. I checked my phone for a text message from Kim, but there was nothing there. I dialed Kim. The phone rang one time before she answered.

Me: “Kim, I was just told by dispatch to call home. Why…”

Kim: “John, I’m at the hospital with your dad. He’s had a heart attack.”

Kim’s voice was hushed so I assumed she was in a room with him and more than likely my mother. My parents are pushing 80, having had me late in life. My dad was my best friend.

Me: “Is he expected to make it, Kim?” My voice was quavering as I braced for the bad news. But there was just silence on the other end. “Kim?” I asked again.

Kim: “No, John, he’s not,” she finally said. She was crying.

As Kim’s response sunk in, I froze. My dad was invincible, how could he be dying. And I hadn’t seen him in over two months, even though they lived nearby.

Me: “How’s mom?”

Kim: “Her usual self, like a rock. She’s sitting in a chair next to him doing a crossword puzzle.”

Mom has always been nearly emotionless. In fact, she can be rather cold, but that is a story for another day. She buried her parents without shedding a tear. It just doesn’t surprise me that she is being her stoical self.  

Me: “I’m in Nashville, Kim. It will take me a day to get home…”

Kim: “Nice of you to let me know, John.”

I stopped mid-sentence. I had texted her where I was going to be. Why the hell did she bring it up now when my dad was dying. I shoved it all down inside me and decided to ignore her shot.

Me: “I’ll call operations and see how quickly they can get me home. If the family makes any plans, please tell them to include me in the decisions.” I was the baby of the family and often left out of major decisions. Bossy Kae, my oldest sister always tried to make all the decisions. My truck driving career was a good way to get away from her.

Kim: “I’ll mention it if they do, but I don’t think it will make any difference between your mom and Kae.”

Well that was a quote from Captain Obvious, I thought. Kim did that all the time, prefacing her remarks with the other side of the argument so she could never be wrong. I swallowed this down too, for the millionth time.

Me: “That’s ok, Kim, you can only put that message in their mind. If nothing else, maybe they won’t bury him before I can get there.”

Kim: “Anything else you want me to do, John.” It sounded like she was crying again, which I found a little odd. I didn’t think she liked either of my parents that much.

Kim: “No, just come home, John. Love you.”

Before I could respond she had hung up.

Next I called operations and talked to Gary, but not before waiting on hold for twenty minutes. While on hold, I watched a hooker and her pimp get into a knock-down-drag-out fight, almost right in front of my truck. Now if you’re wondering why I watched instead of coming to the aid of the hooker, it’s because she was beating the tar out of him and I began to laugh, despite my dire circumstances. Eventually, the pimp jumped into his Cadillac and sped off. She looked up at me and grinned.

When Gary finally answered he said, “Bad news from home, Gilmour?”

Me: “Yeah, Gary. My dad’s had a heart attack and isn’t supposed to recover. I need to go home.”

Gary: “Jeez, Jerry has had you out for over three weeks! Why didn’t you say something, Gilmour?”

Me: “Ya know me, Gary, I don’t like to rock the boat. Besides I can use the money.”

Gary: “I’ll call ya back within the hour, Gilmour. You’re flying home so get your stuff out of the truck that you will need at home. Tell the family you’ll be there yet today.”

With that he hung up. I wasn’t sure how I felt about leaving my truck to fly home. I can’t take everything out of my truck because there is too much to lug home, particularly on an airplane. If they send a driver in to get the truck, which is what they usually do, then it’s hard telling when my other stuff gets back to me.

I called Kim to let her know. She answered immediately.

Me: “Kim, they’re flying me home today so I’ll be there tonight. Tell dad to hang…”

Kim, interrupting and sniffling: “He’s gone, John. He died a few minutes ago. I was going to call you as soon as I quit crying.”