Peace Through Pain

As we approached, we could see the tire tracks swerve to the right and over-correct to the left, ending at the small curb separating Highway 140 from a rounded cliff-side. My little brother and I climbed over the edge and made our way down – following the tracks and debris left by our black Dodge Caravan when it rolled towards the bottom. Scattered about, we found cds that were thrown from my music binder, my World Industries skateboard and reject baseball cards that were left in the van. At the bottom of the cliff, on a dirt road next to an old steel bridge crossing a creek lined with raspberry bushes, we could see the bloodstains that marked the place of my dad’s death. 

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