Ten Mile

As a constant commuter between the municipalities of Lynden and Bellingham in the state of Washington, there are two main roads that are most useful for making such a trip: the Guide Meridian (named because it actually follows one of the global meridian lines) and the Hannegan. Regardless of which one you take, there are numerous cross streets that are the same on either side, and I couldn’t tell you what half of them are. I know Axton, Smith, Pole, and a couple of others off the top of my head.

Now, there’s only one that stands out: Ten Mile. No matter which side I drive and how much I’d rather not, I always have to pass Ten Mile on my way to and from Bellingham. It was never much of an issue before; it carried a few memories of a particularly bad Holiday season in 1998 when we laid my grandfather to rest, but nothing I couldn’t really put out of my mind when I needed to. I remember driving to a Middle School which sits on that road to see my sister play soccer once, and the field borders a farm with a low fence that I climbed over and had my first foot-to-mush experience with a cow pie.

But now, the only connotation that Ten Mile carries is that just down the road is the cemetery where, now in addition to my grandfather, my father currently lays. He will for the rest of, well, time I suppose.

The first Holiday season without my father has come a little too quickly for my liking, as I’m sure the case is for the rest of my family. This truly is unfamiliar territory for us. This time of year was always so important to our whole experience as a family, only later intensified by the birth of my sister’s two children and even further intensified by mine and my brother’s scholastic endeavors, because this was the one time of year where we were all truly together, without question.

That’s why this season coupled with my dad’s extremely noticeable absence really makes me feel pain every time I drive to Bellingham, and it always “pangs” when I drive past the unavoidable barrier of Ten Mile. If ever there was a reason to relocate myself to Bellingham, it would almost be entirely worth it just so I wouldn’t have to make that drive every day.

In a way, though, it’s a good thing because even though it reminds me of my Dad being gone, it also just reminds me of him. If ever there was someone that I should remember in my life it’s absolutely my Dad. I don’t see the harshness of his loss leaving any of my family anytime soon, and that pain that I feel whenever my car passes over Ten Mile isn’t something I would wish upon anyone. At least though, I get to be near my Dad once a day, and though I wish in my heart of hearts that the circumstances were different, it’s worth remembering because I had a good relationship with him. Not everyone can say that about their father.

His last gift to me was that I could.