The rain kept coming down as I drove further through the hills of Montana. Dusk had settled in the land of open spaces with no street lights to guide the way except for my headlights.

Like rivers of tears streaming down my windshield, I though about my father dying in the hospital. I couldn’t cry, not now, not when I have only thirty miles to go. Why didn’t I stay home last time I saw him? Why didn’t I offer to help him when he couldn’t do the daily tasks as when he was young?

The rain stormed against the vehicle. I pulled over at the nearest gas stop to fill my tank. “I think I need a squeegee,” I said to the attendant. He showed me two types to buy and I chose the longer one.

I swiped the windshield as fast as the rain covered it up. climbing back into my car to head toward the hospital, I hoped that I will see my father one last time.

Nancy Nation