When I ride in the passenger seat of my Explorer I find myself thinking of Dad. Probably all those days that my husband or my son drove me over there while he was dying. It just sticks in my head. I don’t think about those days much when I’m actually behind the wheel, though. Something about having someone take me where I didn’t really want to go seems to get to me. I knew I needed to be there, and maybe HE needed me to be there. But oh, how I hated facing it, driving the 32 miles over to meet the unknown.