Old Blue is my 1971 Ford pickup truck. I’d bought it a few years back from Randy Thompson, an old high school buddy. I had told Maggie I was buying the truck for our two Labrador Retrievers, Jake and Buster, but she knew who I was really buying it for. It took me a year to restore it but now it’s practically like new.

Good thing I had just bought new tires. This old country road gets really slick when it rains and I couldn’t see 40 feet in this fog.

I was feeling good about how the engine sounded, thinking it funny how something like an old truck could be bringing me such a welcome distraction. But tonight, on this dark, wet, country road in southern Louisiana, Blue felt like my best friend, and in the truck now, listening to Maggie sleep, there was that old familiar uneasiness and I just couldn’t shake it.

Even though I really didn’t want to think about that night, the night we had said goodbye to our little Layla, goodbye for the very last time, that drive home from the hospital so many years ago was with me again. This night, this drive, the rain, our trip to the hospital in Houston, staring out into the dark night, the silence, all eerily the same.