Sometimes grief comes like a hurricane – a huge tsunami of emotion that engulfs and destroys everything. It swirls and chokes and blows and destroys – leaving only shells in its wake.

Sometimes grief is as a still small voice, a whisper of a memory, a glimpse of remembrance. Maybe it only takes the aroma of a familiar casserole, a drive through an old neighborhood, a picture of a birthday party, a holiday or anniversary, a common name.

Often grief is agonizing but as time passes it can transform into a familiar presence. Years away, it creeps back only occasionally, sometimes bringing guilt, but more often leaving a beautiful taste of what was, but will never be again. A taste to savor, not with regret, but with smiles and a shadow of happiness once again.

I had one of those moments this week as I took an extra long walk over my lunch hour. I wandered farther than usual and found myself on a sidewalk outside Cargill, a grain plant here in Cedar Rapids. Seems a funny place to experience that touch of grief, doesn’t it? But for me, Cargill’s semi-truck parking lot holds quite a few happy memories. Memories of taking donuts to my dad as he sat in line waiting for hours to dump his truckload of grain. You see, my dad was a truck driver and he’s been gone for 12 years now. He lived in northern Illinois and for many years, drove two to three times a week (sometimes even twice a day) to Cedar Rapids, the grain truck capital of Iowa. Sometimes he went to Quaker Oats, sometimes Cargill on the river, but more often, the Cargill plant right off  Interstate 380. He was often in line by 2 or 3 a.m. so he could get his load dumped and be back in Illinois in time to load up once again for another trip to Cedar Rapids, or the Illinois River, or any number of farms in the area. He was a well-known and well-loved driver. He worked hard to be the best he could be at his job, backing his semi-trailer into the tightest of spaces and always making sure the farmers got the best service available. He had an amazing memory, knowing hundreds of farmers, plant workers, waitresses and fellow drivers by name. Way before anyone had heard of Map Quest or Google Maps or even GPS, my dad could tell you the best route to get from Point A to Point B…and it usually didn’t involve any interstate driving.

Sometimes my dad had to sit in that line of semi-trucks for hours waiting, waiting, waiting. He couldn’t go anywhere, just in case he needed to move forward, so he’d give me a call to let me know he was in town and we’d head down to see him. The boys and I would crawl up into his truck and dive into that Donutland dozen. I always brought coffee with plenty of sugar packets for Dad and small bottles of milk for two small boys who adored their grandpa. Sometimes the wait for him was long enough that he could actually leave the truck and we’d drive quickly to the downtown McDonalds for a literal fast-food break. Once in a while Cargill would shut down before his grain was off-loaded so he’d get to stay over night at our house. I’ll never forget the proud looks on those little boys’ faces when their grandpa drove up and parked his semi-truck cab in front of our place. He was always up and gone long before sunrise but I knew I’d get another call telling me he made it back fine, “thanks for letting me stay and for supper” and “I’ll see you again soon.”

You never know when the memories change from painful grieving to sweet remembrances, but they do. And you’ll never know where you’ll be when it happens. Could even be on a warm spring day, standing on a cracked sidewalk across from a smelly grain plant surrounded by diesel fumes and truck drivers.