Up ahead on the freeway, John saw half of a mobile home passing another semi. "Oversized loads are usually the ones getting passed, not the ones passing," he thought. Within a minute he had caught up to the vinyl-wrapped load and was himself passing it. As he glanced over at it, he saw a large eye staring back through a tear. It was in his riew view mirror. >Daddy, that looks like the home you me and Mommy lived in. He has been so self absorbed about the obnoxious traffic all around, he had forgotten why he was driving. >Well, yes sweety, that is a lot like the place you and me and mommy used to live in. Tears swelled up more in her eyes. >Daddy, is that our home going to live somewhere else? Because of what mommy did? John didn't know how to answer that. >That's not our home, sweetheart. That's somebody else's new home. We'll have a new home soon. Somehow, this did not help. But John didn't know what words would help. >Daddy, I thought homes were one place. I thought they didn't move, and I thought home would always have you and mommy there. Why is that home moving? Why isn't mommy here? Why can't it be like it used to?

@Theodore_Kent