Highway

By: Joshua Miller

When I was little, I remember taking car trips with my dad. I would spend the time staring out the
window wondering why the moon was following me, while my dad would listen to music. My favorite
song at the time was, “Life is a Highway” by Rascal Flatts. So my dad, as a special treat, would play it for
me. I would always reply by smiling and singing the song at the top of my lungs and asking him to play it
again when it ended. A few years later, my dad picked me up from gymnastics practice after his doctor's
appointment. When I got into the car I could see that his skin was deathly pale. His eyes were red and his
cheeks were puffy as if he had been crying. To cheer him up I put on “Life is a Highway.” He smiled and
tried to sing but all that came out was a fit of coughs. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but then again,
I didn’t know what type of doctor he saw that day.

The months went by and the coughing grew worse. His mind once sharp as a knife now grew dull
and hazy by the overload of medication. I would wake up to him coughing up blood. He would always
assure me that it was nothing. But I remembered my grandfather offering me the same assurances two
weeks before his death. Then came the day he went to the doctors and didn’t come home. My mom drove
me to see him and I was shocked by what I saw: my dad, one of the strongest people I knew, hooked up to
machines tasked with keeping him alive. I didn’t know what to say, so instead, I pulled out my phone and
played “Life is a Highway.” And even in his weakened state my dad opened his eyes and smiled one last
time. Then I heard the heart rate monitor flatline and I knew he was gone.

The funeral came and went as did the months without him in my life. Everyone said that he
wouldn’t really be gone as long as we remembered him. But they were wrong. Fifteen years old and I
never felt more alone. I found company with the bottles of beer we kept in the fridge. I made friends with
the smoke given off by a cigar. My mind in a drunken haze; I pulled out my phone. Putting my playlist on
shuffle, I closed my eyes ready for the music to disrupt the noise in my mind. A few songs in, and a
familiar guitar intro started to play. The thoughts of my dad came flooding back, breaking the dam I built
to keep them in. Tears rolled down my face and my heart grew tight with longing.“What would he think
of me now?” I wondered.
By the time the song ended, I knew the answer. The next day I woke up and chucked the cigars and
bottles of beer.

I grew to be 18 and college called me away from home. I packed up my bags, loaded the car,
hugged my mom goodbye, and started my journey towards a new life. As I drove, my thoughts drifted
back to the trips with my dad. I turned on the radio and I mindlessly hummed to its tunes. I didn't realize it
at first, but then I heard the words, “Life is a highway. I want to ride it all night long.” And just like all the
times before, I smiled and sang at the top of my lungs. It was then that I realized that my Dad would be
with me through all the traffic, all the accidents, and all the storms, throughout the highway of my life.
R.I.P Jeffrey Miller