"Pepin, Mom? Really?!" I complained from the passenger seat of the U-Haul. "I can't even find this place on the stupid map!" Mom didn't look up from the road. She looked nervous, anxious. I couldn't decide if this massive caravan she was driving was the source of her anxiety, or the fact that she was doing this without Dad. I knew she missed him, it was obvious. His old Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt draped over her skinny frame was evidence of that. Moving half way accross the country wasn't going to take the pain away, she knew that. The day after Dad was burried, she started packing up the house. She boxed, wrapped, and taped in a mad frenzy, like she was in a race. She was running. She didn't want to be sitting on the old lazy boy one night and have the numb feeling go away. She didn't want to be drinking coffee from his old mug and finally break down, finally cry. I looked out the window trying to dismiss the thick air of meloncholy trapped in the cab. I felt it slide into my nose, a scent of peppermind and old Diet Coke clinging to it. It made me feel sick, it was unsettling. I knew I'd have to get comfortable with that feeling. We had a long drive ahead of us, leaving the memories behind.