30 Years, 6 Wheels, and the Losses That Taught Us How to Live
This, my friends, is my post to profess my love to Maria and acknowledge the bittersweet mix of joy and grief that thirty years of shared memories bring.
We recently lost someone Maria had grown close to over the years—her sister, whose name I’ll keep private out of respect for her wishes. She was a complicated person, but Maria managed to break through that tough exterior and unlock the deep love inside. That loss, along with other unexpected departures from our wider circle, forced us to slow down and truly reflect on what these three decades mean to us as a couple.
Maria and I worked tirelessly to build, nourish, and raise our family over twenty years. We weren’t perfect, but we gave it everything we had and are deeply proud of what we accomplished together. Our foundation was forged in trial, error, patience, and persistence.
For the past six years, we’ve lived those values on six wheels. Raising a large family in a traditional house was the hard outer shell; living in our motorhome, the Mothership, is like living inside mother-of-pearl itself. Compact and iridescent, it strips away physical baggage so we can focus purely on our core connection.
Thirty years marks our "pearl" anniversary, making this metaphor feel all the more fitting. The loss of loved ones—whether to death or to quiet, unspoken drift—is painful. Yet our life together remains a steady, comforting rhythm. We face future uncertainty by anchoring ourselves in simple joys like salt air, collecting shells and rocks, and immersing ourselves in nature.
Living in the Mothership teaches you real quick what fits into a small space. But how do you pack away grief, timing, or sudden loss? It makes you confront your own mortality. In the end, though, we have each other to lean on as we push forward into the future and travel toward where we need to be.
Basking inside that mother-of-pearl is the ultimate metaphor for the life we’ve built, hand in hand, and we wouldn’t trade it for anything. Love is resilient. Loss can leave cracks, but love brings us full circle to remind us that as long as we hold hands and nurture the foundation we’ve built over thirty years, we are always home.
Thanks for reading!
Tim Eagle
Tim Eagle is an author of the novellas Karma Cop, Life Ship, and the Vasectomus Collection. He lives full time, on the road, with his wife, Maria, cat Walter White, and dog Ellie. He grew up in Michigan and is inspired by the dysfunction of America. His books are available on Amazon, godless and this site timeaglefiction.com
Comments