March 2nd, 1973: Dad went back for more cobalt today. But he says he feels better. He thinks maybe the stuff is doing some good. I hope he's right.
March 2nd, 2013: Another short entry. The fourth treatment in four days. Quincy and back. Like the three days before.
No mention of any "special" driver on this day. Mom was likely back in this role again, after one of his buddies drove him the day before.
There would have been a lot of time for mom and dad to talk while on the road. Or, there could have been an hour of silence each way. That would be possible, but not likely.
I never knew dad to be overly reflective or sentimental. He didn't verbalize it anyway. Didn't reminisce a lot, unless asked. But I wonder if that drive brought some memories back to the surface of his mind?
It's pure speculation on my part. I love to be on the road. Especially on my motorcycle. It's as much mental therapy as it is enjoyment and transportation. I do a lot of thinking, get ideas, look back, look forward. Without knowing it, maybe I got that gene from dad. The fact that he was born and raised in Quincy, then moved to Pittsfield. He could probably drive that route blindfolded. I wonder if he held memories, and memories of incidents, along the route like I do?
There was so much going on. Yet so much not going on. A lot of time waiting around. A lot of time running around. Routines he'd had for years and years at the store and home, replaced by new routines of doctors and treatments. Everyday thoughts of running the store, being a husband and father, to the unthinkable thoughts of dying, and leaving his wife and kid behind.
All in less than a month's time. Everything was beginning to become "the same," but completely different.