The Call Home

8:32 PM the telephone rang last night. My father-in-law had slipped away, peacefully.

As I looked up into the California night sky, the moon was a mere sliver, again sporting that Cheshire cat grin, looking down at me. I smiled in spite of myself because it reminded me of Hoss. He tormented me relentlessly...and that cheesy grin always emerged.

Nearly 19 years ago, I officially joined the family. A couple nights ago, I had pulled out the photo albums upon request. The kids were looking over my shoulder. Our wedding photos drew the most attention.

"Whoa, Grandpa and Grandma were young!"

I smiled because, well, because that means I am still young. Grandpa was 44.

"Hey, look, Dad had hair!"

Okay, maybe not as young as I think.

Then I found a picture of me with Chris and Hoss at my college graduation. He was a big man, standing tall next to the diesel truck he loved so much.

The next family event was a trip to Minnesota to meet his extended family after Hoss' brother was killed in a trucking accident.

Then it was my youngest sister-in-law's wedding just a few weeks after Nikela was born. My favorite photo is Hoss in his tux holding his granddaughter in pink ruffles as Grandma dotes on her. Neither are looking at the camera.

As I flipped the pages of family history, I realized that graduations, weddings, and funerals tend to bring us together. The irony.

Ron had the bittersweet privilege of spending the past several days by his father's bedside. He had not even been home 24 hours when the call came.

How do you say good-bye to a father?

A father is so many things, and each relationship individualized.

In my last conversation when Hoss was in the hospital on a quiet afternoon, I had the opportunity to try to tell him how much he meant to Ron. When I hung up the phone, I realized the tears were streaming down my cheeks silently. As I sat there, the waves of emotion were as relentless as the ocean as the memories rolled in.

Hoss spent his life driving truck. He understood my rants about California traffic. He had a few choice words of his own...and I am telling you, it ranked up there with hospital food. As I sit here, I wonder how many miles he drove in his lifetime? He loved his truck. When Ron brought his truck home a few days ago, he heard it. He knew the boy he taught to drive was bringing home his truck. The boy he guided into manhood...embracing the hard things in life.

Hoss took his own call home last night.

And going "home" will never be the same for us, but as I sit here in these early morning hours, I am so grateful for the man who welcomed us home so many, many times through the years.