When I was growing up with three sisters, we piled into a series of station wagons for regular road trips from our home in Florida. We drove to North Carolina for summer camp and Thanksgiving vacations. We drove to small towns in Tennessee and Virginia to visit relatives. Sometimes we drove about an hour away, to a tiny lake house down a weedy driveway. That road trip was short, but often memorable, with a surprising amount of animal encounters. Once we picked up a box turtle plodding across the road. We named him Sam and fed him scrambled eggs. Once we made the trip with a box of kittens, one of whom I took out to let sleep on my lap. Then she threw up, and, to my dismay, we just kept driving. Usually I rode with a book in my hand, and the trip took me far off whatever road we were on, to places altogether different. I’d come to with a jolt when we turned off the road, and it would take me a minute to remember where I was.
My sisters and I are scattered now across three countries, and road trips are hard to manage. Even when we do get together, there isn’t much driving. The last time I was in a car with all three of them we only made it as far as the discount shoe store—an adventure all the same.
I have sisters of a different sort, too—my writing group of bereaved mothers. We’ve been writing together since 2002, usually at the beach or in the mountains. We’ve also taken some big trips—our tenth anniversary in a french chateau, and our fifteenth at Ghost Ranch, New Mexico. Next week we head to Red Cloud, Nebraska, where the writer Willa Cather lived and wrote. We’re working on a second book. The first one, Farther Along: The Writing Journey of 13 Bereaved Mothers, tells the story of our losses, and how writing together has brought us, well, farther along.
Here’s what I’ve learned after years of sharing words with these sisters, by the sea and on top of mountains: Grief is like a road trip where someone made you get in the car, and like a child stuck in the back seat, you don’t get to make decisions. You don’t get to decide when to stop, how fast or slow to go, what snacks to bring along, or when the trip will end. You don’t even know the destination. What can make it all bearable are companions on the road with you. My writing group sisters and I long ago realized that there is no map, so we might as well look out the window as we drive, eat good snacks, and tell good stories.
Three of our group are on the road right now, driving from North Carolina to Nebraska, on an epic road trip. The rest of us are following their itinerary with a little jealousy, as they wind through towns and along rivers, taking tours and detours. When we all end up at our destination together, what will the road have taught them? What have your road trips taught you?
a writing prompt
Write about a road trip. Literal, metaphorical, whatever comes to mind. Wondering how to start? Bring up an image in your mind as you think about the trip. Then start describing it, and see what roads your pen leads you down.
an opportunity
Join me to put words on the page this Fall, and explore your own memory and imagination. For six weeks, beginning September 29th, we’ll gather on Zoom, and explore how writing can help us pay attention to what matters most. Find the details and sign up here. Fall Writing Group
