There’s an old song that claims to have left a heart in San Francisco…but I think I can go that one better. Not that I have anything against San Francisco – we’ll be visiting there for S, after all – but I have a story about another city to share, today.
You see, I lost my husband in Chicago, when we’d been married less than a year.
It took 36 hours to find him – and here’s the story!
As I mentioned yesterday, we often traveled with my Accomplice pulling our trailer, while I followed in our aged sedan. In those pre-cell phone and texting days, we used signals or gas stops to communicate. Sometimes, though, things didn’t go as smoothly as we hoped…
And so it was, when we tried to drive through Chicago at rush hour. We were creeping along Lake Shore Drive in the slow lane, and, although I tried to stay right behind the trailer, one vehicle after another squeezed in between. Eventually, the trailer and my Accomplice were dozens of cars ahead – and then I lost sight of them altogether.
I thought I’d find him by the toll booths – but, although I waited for 20 minutes, I didn’t see him.
I was nervous, but my Accomplice had mentioned needing to refuel, so I assumed that he’d gotten off at the first rest area. I did the same. I didn’t see him there, either, so I asked about him. He’s a distinctive guy, with a distinctive rig…but no one had seen him.
Our plan was to go to South Bend, Indiana, that night, so that’s what I did, stopping at every rest area to ask. When I got near South Bend, I stopped at the state police barracks, and then I got a hotel room.
The next morning, I called my parents; we had been headed to their home. “Don’t go anywhere,” my father said, and gave me a hotel number. It was 7am, but my Accomplice, being a man of action, had already checked out. I told my father I would stay at the hotel, so that when he called again, I would be there.
At five PM, he called me – from Erie, PA. He’d been to the state police, too – the Illinois State Police. He’ d driven within a mile of my hotel room. He’d called my parents to tell them “I lost your daughter” – which led to a bit of panic before he explained…
I got in the car, and drove all night, counting down the miles until I reached the trailer – concluding a 471 mile separation, and a trip that could have taken only 7 hours or so, and then there were lots of hugs and a teary reunion, the details of which are private…
Fade to black (family-friendly post!)
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What about you? Have you ever gotten separated while traveling? Shopping? At a fair or on the beach? Got to have a happy homecoming, with a great story to tell, later? Share it here!