The Push For Home

How Loss, Love, and Memory Shaped a 2,000-Mile Journey

The call came late at night. My older brother Mike, who also lives in South Florida, was on the line.

Mom had passed away.

I had half expected it. Her condition had declined sharply just before we left on our trip. Years earlier, she suffered a stroke that paralyzed her entire left side. Swallowing became difficult, so she was fed through a tube. Add to that a decade-long battle with dementia, and communication had become nearly impossible.

The day before she died, Mike put me on speakerphone and held it to her ear. I told her what made her the best mom ever—was her infectious positivity, active lifestyle, amazing home-cooked meals (like baked, crab stuffed, flounder) and experimental desserts (fudgy marble).

(Speaking of her Fudgy Marble—half brownie, half cake—earned an Honorable Mention in a national Duncan Hines baking contest and remains a family and close friends favorite.)

When we were kids, she played with us and the neighborhood boys. She’d shoot hoops, ride bikes, and throw the ball around with Mike, Scott, and me.

Around age 11, I nicknamed her “Ralf,” spelled with an f because she thought it looked more feminine. It stuck. Even the neighborhood kids called her that.

She wasn’t just our mom. She was our Legend.

As we grew older and married, she welcomed our wives with open arms. When the grandkids arrived, she played board games and cards, rode bikes, and even rollerbladed with them. She remained a kid at heart.

We loved her because she was the kindest, most loving mom a boy could ask for. Her grandkids, and great grandkids adored their Nana. She and Dad were married for 73 years. He passed at 93; she lived to 91. We were lucky to have them both for so long.

The Turn Toward Home

I don’t know exactly why I decided it was time to go home.

We’d been on the road for six weeks, rolling through Arizona, Utah, and Colorado—loving every minute. We had plans to keep going another week, maybe more. I could’ve gone another month.

But as John Steinbeck wrote in Travels with Charley:

“My own journey started before I left, and over before I returned.”

That’s what I was feeling.

After a few spectacular days in the Rockies with our grandkids, I woke up and said to Lis,

“Let’s head out tomorrow.”

She gave me a look like I’d just canceled Christmas.

But those last days were magic—hiking, sightseeing, shopping, laughing. Watching the kids explore the mountains like they were in on some big secret. It felt like the crescendo to a perfect song.

You know when something is so good, you just know it won’t get better?

That’s what it felt like.

A perfect final chapter.

The Quiet Pull

A couple of days earlier, when I got the call about Mom, we didn’t rush home. She wouldn’t have wanted that. We stayed in the moment—with Evan, Jackie, Liv, and Hayes—letting those last few days unfold.

But maybe the call was working on me in the background.

Maybe part of me had already turned toward home.

Grief’s funny that way. It doesn’t always knock—it nudges. Quietly.

Or maybe it wasn’t grief. Maybe I just knew the trip was done. The best part had already happened; anything after that would’ve felt like an encore when the show was already over.

So we packed up, left Estes Park at 9 a.m. on Friday, and drove eight to eleven hours a day. We made it back in four days. No drama. No speeches.

Just me, Lisa, Izzy (mostly sleeping), and the road—heading home because the story had been told.

2,041 Miles Later

I couldn’t explain it, but the farther we drove, the stronger I felt that pull—to get home.

There were no legal matters pressing. Mike was handling all that.

I just needed to be there.

We drove east across Colorado, Kansas, and Missouri on I-70 (835 miles). Then we cut south through Illinois and Kentucky (315 miles), then Tennessee, Georgia, Florida on I-75 (715 Miles) and our final leg on the Florida Turnpike (176 miles) reaching Stuart, at 7:30 p.m. on Monday.

Four days. 2,041 miles. Over nine hours behind the wheel each day.

Monday alone: 628 miles in 10 hours and 55 minutes.

Arrival. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, we disconnected the Maverick, backed Club Level into its spot in the backyard, plugged into shore power, ate a bowl of cereal/fruit, and collapsed into bed.

The Push for Home, it was a push.

Plenty of time to unpack. Tomorrow.

But, we were home, it felt good.

Keep checking your inbox, Cruising and Musing will return within a week with our Journey Epilogue, until then,

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