Descriptive Writing - Original Writing

950 Words4 Pages
Driving with my dad those countless hours gave me plenty of time to say goodbye, but I just couldn’t form the words. So instead when pestered each other with our normal banter, annoying each other with pun filled jokes that incited a groan instead of a laugh. My dad filled the time with stories, telling me about his childhood, his father, and grandfather who I never had the pleasure to meet. At that time, though I never actually said goodbye or how much I’d miss him, this was in a way our way of saying it without actually speaking. Yes, we’d see each other again, but they’d be spread thin, mostly in the summer months when school was out, but I was used to making him breakfast in the mornings as we each got ready, him for work and me for school. I was used to greeting him when he came in the door with a witty comment and a hello that would cause him to roll his eyes. I was used to helping him making dinner and listening to him purposely butchering the lyrics to my favorite songs. These things were a part of my everyday life and when we reached our destination they no longer would be. We reached Texas and our hotel in the middle of the night and nobody had the energy to say or do anything but climb in bed and sleep. Tomorrow would be the day we saw my father new abode, tomorrow would be the day which we would move him into a new home inhibited only by him.
The morning was a blur of packing up the little we’d unpacked, eating breakfast, and climbing back into the cars we’d become so accustomed to and heading off to a new chapter of life. The apartments which my father had chosen were nothing special, but my dad stated, “As long as I have a roof over my head, walls, and a bed. I’ll be fine.” He was a simple man and the apartment fit...

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... we headed home.
It wasn’t until we’d been on the road for some time and I finally saw a sign that had Saint Louis on it and the number of miles left did the situation finally hit me. Like a dam opening tears flooded out of my eyes and I quietly cried. The closer we came to home meant the farther we were from my father. My mom and sister said nothing feeling the same pain as my body shook and tears streamed down my face. In a way the pain was worse than when my father had been deployed because then he was so far away that it was not even fathomable for me to see him until he came home. Now he was close, but also far away, he was in the same country as us this time but we weren’t together. I cried until I had no more tears and when we finally enter Saint Louis the image of the Arch did not bring its usual sense of happiness and home but just another pang of sadness.
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