Golden Photographer Blog- Where Are We Going?

Where Are We Going?

It’s was a cold, snowy Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving, and Lloyd was warming up Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith is Lloyd’s 32-year-old Toyota 4Runner. I fell in love with his 4Runner before I fell in love with Lloyd. I had been dating a series of men who, coincidentally, drove small red cars. The small red cars seemed to be a formula for bad relationships so I was delighted to see that Lloyd drove something large and blue. 

Mr. Smith was getting warmed up, snow brushed off, luggage and passengers loaded, two of whom were my parents, mom, 85, and dad (AKA Mr. Bob,) 91. I thought driving to Durango with my folks to spend thanksgiving with Forrest, who goes to school out there, would be a nice change, and I wouldn’t have to cook this year. So, we booked the hotel rooms, and I instructed Forrest to make reservations at the local farm-to-table place in Durango, where we’d had lunch last year. 

I checked in with Forrest a few weeks before our departure to find out he had not made reservations.  In fact, the place we were thinking about going to wasn’t even open on Thanksgiving.  By then all of the restaurants in town were fully booked. So I decided to skip the turkey and make a pot of chili, some cornbread, and a salad, at Forrest’s apartment. Lloyd packed up all of the ingredients, and we made our way to Durango.

The road from Silverton to Durango, CO

By this time many people who were traveling had left early to miss the storm. Because of work, Lloyd could not. Not going was not an option. We were all pretty upset about the election, Dad’s dementia was getting worse, and Mom had cabin fever.  She had jumped at the idea of going on a road trip when I asked her about it. So we made our way over the snowy roads for a seven-hour trip. Because of Mr. Bob’s condition, I packed the car with a photo of him and Forrest to remind him of why we were going to Durango. I also brought some books on CD to play for the long drive. I asked my friend Bill, a hospice nurse, what his advice was on taking a guy with dementia on a road trip. He said, “Don’t take people with dementia on road trips.” Shit! Well, too late. 

I put in the first of nine CD’s in the car’s player.  Just as it started, I heard.  “Where are we going?” from Mr. Bob. We explained to him we were driving to Durango to see Forrest. “Oh, okay,” he replied.

The roads were not great, but Lloyd is a seasoned driver. He knows Colorado mountain roads better than most natives, driving them year-round for his work on the 14ers. And because we left right after the storm, the drive couldn’t have been more beautiful. My dad continued with the same question, and we replied with the same answer. After eight-and-a-half hours, we arrived in Durango. I called Forrest to make sure he had bought a pie and he replied with his casual, “Oh I’ll just pick something up on Thanksgiving.” Lloyd and I looked at each other and decided to get a pie ourselves.  But the only pies left in the local Durango stores were sugar-free, dairy-free, or some sort of flavor-free pies. So we went for the chocolate cupcakes.

On Thanksgiving, we headed over to Forrest’s apartment, a small-but-nice converted hotel unit where there wasn’t really room for a kitchen.  But they put one in anyway. Forrest has to wash is face and brush his teeth in the kitchen sink because there isn’t a sink in the bathroom--a sacrifice made when remodeling. Forrest was probably cleaning franticly before we arrived, adding a box of Arm & Hammer backing soda to each room to absorb any unwanted smells. Lloyd and I set up a cutting board on top of the stove as there is no counter and made dinner while my folks caught up with Forrest. 

After everything was ready, we gathered in the small apartment’s living room, my folks and I on Forrest’s recently acquired free couch, Forrest on the floor, and Lloyd sitting on a cooler. Everything was pretty tasty and pretty perfect.

The next day, the five of us squished into Mr. Smith and drove to Silverton, about an hour away. “Where are we going?” asked Mr. Bob. We explained and made our way through the most beautiful snow scene I have ever seen. Not many were on the road but the cold blue sky, the bright yellow sun contrasting with the fresh snow covering the pine trees was spectacular. 

We stopped at the only place open, the Coffee Bear, located in a wonderful old storefront building with a two-story-high ceiling. I took dad upstairs to the loft area that overlooked the baristas, while the others ordered hot chocolate for everyone. Dad, now gets a bit uneasy if he doesn’t see mom. So being with him while he was watching her, gave him the ease to talk and enjoy himself. While we waited, I saw a little glimpse of my old dad, the guy who bullshitted about funny things.

The others joined us and we had the best hot chocolate I have ever tasted. Maybe it wasn’t the best, but that day was--that moment in time, the people I was with, and knowing this was going to be one of the last trips with my dad. The way my mom had grown into a patient woman who showed nothing but love for her husband. The way my husband gave up his holiday time to spend with his in-laws. The way Forrest took the arms of his grandparents to guide them past whatever obstacle was in their way.

The five of us piled back into the 4Runner and headed back to Durango. “Where are we going?” Asked Mr. Bob. I don’t know, I thought, but today, we’re here with you. And that’s all any of us need.

My very best to you and your family. 

Povy