Beneath the Surface

Things aren't always what they seem.

While we watched the nice, fluffy snowflakes fall yesterday afternoon and evening, it didn't seem like they warranted the nasty Winter Weather Advisory from the forecasters. But once in awhile they know better than we do.

I quickly learned on my morning commute that it was really a travel advisory. Underneath the surface of the fluff was a slippery mess.

Even on plowed, well-treated highways, it required tentative and attentive driving. Saw two cars in the ditch in the first 15 minutes. After getting through Plover and onto the interstate, they were doing "traffic reports" and indicated some traffic jams on the interstate by Stevens Point. I had no idea how that could happen. Oh, but it did.

The morning commute was pretty much at a standstill. Not sure why. Granted, I did see another 3 vehicles in the ditches, but nothing near this police car that was sitting by the exit. Still, we were down to one lane and just inched along for a mile. Then I could exit for work.

Scary stuff. I wouldn't be surprised if the cops were sitting there just so we all would slow down. Prevent more cars from zig-zagging off the road. Sometimes it's best to listen to the people who know.

A few days ago, we were quite grateful we did.

In early December, hubby's uncle and godfather learned he had cancer of the spine. All these different health issues this year and there was cancer, lurking undetected beneath the surface – much like today's ice.

Frank has been in a nursing home much of the last month and declining fast. The caretakers were primarily managing his pain. Last week, though, they knew it was getting worse. And he was, too. They know these things. They've seen it. And, thankfully, when they pay attention they can warn the loved ones so they know they have one last time to say goodbye.

Jim and I went up to Marshfield last Wednesday night to do just that. Frank wasn't awake but we talked to him and he did squeeze our hands. We were able to express our love, pray for his comfort, and give him final hugs and kisses.

He died the next night.

It's a blessing when we who are left behind get the opportunity for final farewells. It was reminiscent of saying goodbye to my dad. On the way home, I again told Dad he was getting another good one Up There and to take good care of Frank for us.

I know he was listening because a trucking song suddenly came on the radio. Beneath the surface, that's The Lone Spruce telling me, "I got you, little buddy."

And "Drive with care."