On the Road

Is there anything lonelier than watching Hallmark Christmas movies by yourself, in a motel room miles from anywhere, when you are alone? Probably, but at the moment, it doesn’t feel as if there is.

Of course, I could a) not travel, b) not watch television, or c) hmm. Can’t think of a c. A and b should be enough.

I won’t stop traveling, and the only time I watch television is when I stay with friends, but after a long though easy day of driving, I didn’t feel like listening to silence. (Odd, since silence is my favorite music.) Hence, the movies.

I am lost. Sort of. I took a wrong turning and don’t exactly know where I am since it was dark when I happened on this motel, but I don’t think I am so lost as know it is still months until Christmas.

But still . . . here I am.

The first movie I watched last night was simply trite, but the second was as irritating as a walk through a briar patch. One woman is marrying a friend’s fiance, and she can’t understand why the friend can’t forgive her because “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just fell in love.”

It has never made sense to me if love is so compelling that any horrific betrayal in its name is forgivable, when death steals your loved one from you, you are (after a very short time of bereavement) supposed to simply shrug it off as if it didn’t change you and your life forever.

This dichotomy makes an already difficult situation even worse. Which is why I prefer silence to love songs, thrillers to romantic novels, being by myself than with couples.

I sound melancholic don’t I? But I’m not. Not really. Maybe I should get an early start today so I can stop before dark so I don’t get lost so I don’t need sound so I don’t watch idiot movies. It won’t solve the main problem of Jeff being gone, but it won’t make me feel bad.

Because after all — I am on the road! That is certainly something to celebrate.

Even if it isn’t Christmas.


(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)