Years ago, when I was in graduate school, I developed a habit of going for a drive late at night on Christmas Eve, usually late enough that I was in the midst of my random, goal-less journey when Christmas Eve transitioned into Christmas Day. When I lived in Phoenix, there was not the cold in the air that people associate with the season, but there were still lights decorating houses. During one drive I saw a house standing alone out in the flat desert with not even a saguaro cactus standing nearby, the colored lights cheerfully forlorn in the desolate isolation.

Later in my life, when I lived in Portland, Oregon, I would go driving up the north side of the Columbia River Gorge, playing a game of rounding the corners at double the posted speed on the yellow signs warning of tight curves ahead. I had a Mitsubishi 3000 GT VR4, which had all-wheel-drive so it held the road very well, but was extremely unforgiving in poor road conditions because the car was heavy. The toughest curves where those marked as 40 and 45 mph, because the lateral g-forces at 90 mph made it tough to say in the seat, even with the seat-belt and supposed contoured seat-back. I would eventually reach a small town about 30 or 40 miles east of Portland, where I would cross the Columbia River and begin my drive west back to my house. The south side of the gorge was not quite as fun a drive, but it has a series of waterfalls that are very beautiful. I have some photos I took at night of the waterfalls that I am very proud of. Often I would stop and hike the short distance from the parking area to the Latourell Falls to watch the stars through the mist thrown up by the crashing of the water into the pool below.

After I divorced and moved to Austin I traveled to spend my Christmas in Memphis, where I grew up and where my parents still live. I would still go for a drive over midnight on Christmas Eve, usually going to the Mississippi River to gaze out over that mighty expanse of water as it flowed by.

All of these drives were taken alone, not even a voice on the radio for company but instead a CD of either the music from the “Charlie Brown Christmas” soundtrack or various instrumental versions of Christmas music in a minor key such as Carol of the Bells.

This year, I sit in my parents’ house and the presence of my father, which was usually so prominent even when he was away, is missing. Tonight my Dad lies in a hospital bed in Intensive Care, surrounded by apparatus quietly whirring as they pump different fluids into his ravaged body and other machines beeping in apparent impatience when he does not breathe deeply enough. My mother is upstairs sleeping, trying to recover enough of the energy that was prodigiously spent in our overnight Emergency Room vigil watching as more and more tubes were inserted in my father as the staff struggled to keep him alive and ran out of hooks for the IV bags and bottles.

In about an hour we will go for the last allowed visiting time of today in the ICU. I spent most of last night sitting where my father could see me so that every time he opened his eyes he would see that someone from his family was with him, and during the times he was out I would go sit with my mother as she allowed herself to cry out of sight of my Dad because she refuses to cry where he can see.

This Christmas Eve will be the first in 15 years I will not take my lonely drive.

Three months ago I was living in France, expecting to live there for another year and one-half with plans made accordingly.

Two months ago on my birthday my Dad was admitted to the hospital for a severe stomach problem.

One and one-half months ago I was told that a large tumor had been found in my father’s abdomen, and my plans changed.

When you gather for that incredibly exasperating reunion with family, the next time your Uncle says something to deliberately get a rise out of someone, or your Aunt gossips meanly about relatives that are not at your celebration, before you roll your eyes in exasperation take a moment remember how different your holiday, and your life, can be and can change in a moment.

No one has to take a drive alone.

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