Coming Home

When I was a teenager, my Daddy drove an eighteen wheeler 'Over The Road' at times. He was a 'flatbedder' and hauled a lot of oil field pipe, as well as other things, to places like North Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, which seemed like a million miles away from Southeast Texas. He might be gone for weeks on end and though his being gone seemed easier on everyone else, I missed him. 
We lived several miles off the Farm Market Road and in what used to be, a very nice subdivision. If the wind was right, my brother Jim and I could hear him as soon as he turned off the main highway and our ears would follow him as he idled home. This was especially true in the middle of the night. 
He would often call and let Momma know that he would be home and she would tell us. Many times she would warn us that it would be late in the night or early the next morning, so we couldn't wait up for him. On those nights, no matter how cool or hot it was outside, I would open my window a little so that I could hear him as soon as he turned off the highway. And even if I went to sleep, I would wake up as if my ears were standing guard and listening for the sound of that Mack coming home. Only after he was safely inside the house would I return to sleep, and I would sleep sounder than I had since before he had left the last time.
When I grew up and moved out of my parent's house, on those times when I returned for an overnight visit I found myself sleeping deeper than when I was in my own home. I once asked Momma about it and she said that it was because a part of me felt like a child who knew that as long as Momma and Daddy were in the house, I was safe and could sleep in peace. 
I liked that and the child in me agreed with that.
Almost a year ago, my momma left my daddy. This past March I visited Daddy for a few days and I slept in his and Momma's old bed. I wasn't scared, but I wasn't able to sleep well. Partly due to my being ill, but the biggest problem was the sadness I felt. Almost fifty one years of marriage, four kids, eight grandkids, six great grandkids, too many memories to count and my parents were getting a divorce. 
In April of this year their divorce was final; their marriage and their love was done.
But, as I tried to go to sleep tonight, I remembered how excited we were, my brothers, myself and Momma, when he'd call and say that he was on his way home. She'd lie in bed with her bedside lamp on and read a book, sometimes falling asleep. I'd crack that window open and drift off to sleep willing that Mack to bring Daddy home. And when it finally did, she'd awake and welcome him home and then we'd all sleep as sound as babies snuggled close to the bosoms of their mothers.
I love you, Daddy. I love you, Momma.