In the first part of this series (two weeks ago) we left off with James and I heading for Denver.

We were going to work with an armored semi company that handled high value freight, which is to put it mildly.

We were often escorted by black vehicles with people we never talked to. Helicopters in the air above us on occasion and once…
…we were sitting at a Blue Beacon, waiting to get the truck washed. Our dispatcher called and asked how we were doing. We answered that we were great.
He went on to say, “so what’s on the schedule for today?”
James was a bit confused but answered, “well, we’re sitting here at the Blue Beacon. The truck needs a bath.”
He said, “is that a purple truck behind you?”

Bear in mind, we were sitting somewhere in New Mexico and our Dispatcher was in Denver.
“What?” James asked, looking in the mirrors to see the truck behind us, “well…” James could see the purple truck behind us, “um, what…” he said puzzled by the question.
Our Dispatcher laughed, “yep, thought it was purple. It looks purple.”
James opened the door, his phone still up to his ear, looking around.

Our Dispatcher, who’s name was Chip said, “look up.”

James did look up but… there was nothing to see.

To make a very strange story short, Chip told us he could see James standing on the step with the door open on the driver’s side.

“What!?” James exclaimed, as Carl told him he was looking at us over a satellite that can pinpoint our truck any time of the day and see everything in detail.

And we carried on doing a very interesting job with interesting people in a great company.

Several months into our tenure in the world of armored semi’s, helicopters and dispatchers that can see what you’re thinking! — I got a call from my brother, saying my Dad was in hospital and it might be a good idea to come home.

This type of call isn’t the kind anyone wants to get. And it happened several times that year.

Mid 2019, hospital visit. I’m in uniform. My amazing Dad.

With each of those calls we did go back to St. Louis, coming off the road — literally — to the hospital. Each time the scare would pass and Dad would rally.

My Dad was born in 1932. One of 9 children. Two of the 9 children were twins and both killed in an auto accident, and my Grandmother, when Dad was 12 years old.

The story goes that a large agricultural truck was coming from the other direction. It crossed the center line and hit the truck my grandmother was driving. My Dad, along with all 9 children were in the truck with her. Dad was in the bed of the truck with all the brothers, while the two sisters were sitting in the back seat of the old crew cab style truck. The twins and Dad’s mother, were in the front seat.

At 12 years old, my Dad sat on the side of the road, after the crash, holding his mother in his arms, waiting for help. Help came from nearby neighbors who heard the crash and she had died in his arms.

The situation for the 7 children left without their mother after the crash, was dire.
Dad’s father — my grandfather — had passed away a few years earlier.

Dad’s mother (my grandmother) had remarried but the man she married wasn’t capable of caring for 7 children ranging from 5 to 17 years of age. That’s another story altogether.

Nevertheless, it would be only a few days after the crash, the kids would have to be separated, to survive.

As it turned out, the 7 children now homeless and alone, would be sent to whomever could care for them.

My Dad’s name is Henry, and two of his brothers J.R. and Bill, were sent to “Boy’s Estate”, on Jekyll Island, Georgia. That was an orphan shelter.

The two sisters, Evie and Lila, who were very young at the time, would go to live with an aunt who could take only two of the children.

One brother Bill, would sent to another aunt and the youngest, “Carl”, would be sent to yet another family member who could take only one child.

The eldest R.J., would set out on his own at barely 17. R.J., would ultimately marry and become a professional truck driver and end up housing and feeding, in one way or another, all of the brothers and sisters in the years to come, during their early years.

As a result of this event early in their lives, all of the McMillan children became incredibly close and dedicated to one another — the exact opposite of what often happens when children are separated so young.

The stories I heard around the breakfast tables, dining tables and picnic tables of my youth, would make amazing movies!

Every available vacation my Dad could manage was spent with family. We’d pile into the car with our little suitcases tucked in the trunk and head for Georgia. I can smell the pine needles scattered everywhere, as I write this!

Those stories were part of my education, formative in my youth and foundational for my life.

To listen to those stories about how this family managed to stay close, to stay connected and more than that… to love life and be grateful for every moment of it, was an education!

Sometimes, everyone listening would be brought to tears, listening to the stories but far more often — the lion’s share of stories — were a source of gut-splitting laughter.

All of us kids — the offspring of the 5 brothers and 2 sisters, along with all of the spouses, would sit around and listen and laugh at the shenanigans of this bunch for hours.

When James and I got the first call in 2019, that Dad wasn’t doing well, we headed home.

Throughout the 2019, we were called home four times. Four serious hospital stays for my 87 year-old father, brought us to St. Louis. AND four times Dad rallied and was able to go home and we went back on the road.

When you’re hauling high value / time sensitive freight that involves a number of agencies while in transit and a lot of planning — going home on a moment’s notice is difficult.

No one in our company ever once complained and in fact, bent over backwards to make sure we got home as quickly as possible. That said, we knew it put a strain on the other teams and everyone involved and it was a concern.

On the fifth call from my brother, Russ let us know that Dad had been put into hospice care. It was the beginning of September, 2019.

At that time, James and I had been working with our company going on 10 months.

Everyone, from the other driving teams, to the dispatcher, to guys in the shop, plus management and everyone in between are simply among the best we’ve ever worked with. A wonderful group of people who have each-other’s backs on a daily basis up and down the chain of command.

It was a hard decision to leave and so… we didn’t.

Instead of cutting ties to go home and handle the situation at hand, we were given an opportunity to take “extended leave”.  This meant we could return to work two or three months down the road and do so without repeating the rigors of the hiring process we had to endure the first time through. They would hold a spot for us.

Late September, we said our temporary goodbyes, rented a van — no airplane flight this time — loaded up our gear and drove 1,800 miles to St. Louis… where we had nowhere to stay.

Since we gave up having a physical address back in 2014, everything we had that wasn’t on the truck was still in storage — in California. We were now heading for St. Louis with no furniture or clothing or personal belongings… and no place to live.

That trip from Denver to St. Louis was full questions without answers. We didn’t know what was going to happen — or how — or when. What we could do was take it all one step at a time.

In the next chapter, we’ll head into the gauntlet that brought a whirlwind of profound change to all our lives.

Coming soon!
Andrea | LovinTruckin