The life of a Truckie/Trucker is hard, not only for the truckie/trucker but for their families. Truck driver's should NEVER leave home without your last words ALWAYS being "I LOVE YOU", and never let your husband, wife, lover, boy or girlfriend, son or daughter take off in the truck without you saying the same words to them, "I LOVE YOU". Even if you haven't been getting on too well lately, or have had problems at home, SAY THOSE WORDS, because in your heart you know that you love them. You may one day regret not saying those words - but we sincerely hope that day never comes for you. By the way, this doesn't only apply to truckies and their families - it should apply to everyone. Scroll down to read some poems sent to us.

A Trucker's Last Letter

Many of you will have already read this true story and poem, you should read it again, just to remind you of a few things. ‘Steamboat Mountain’ was a man killer, and truckers who hauled the Alaskan Highway treated it with great respect. Particularly in the winter, the road used to curve and twist over the mountain and sheer cliffs dropped away sharply from the icy road. Countless trucks and truckers have been lost there over the years and many dreams were dashed upon its rocky slopes. Many years ago on one trip up the highway, I came upon an RCMP cruiser and several wreckers winching the remains of a semi up the cliff. I parked my rig and went over to the quiet group of truckers who were watching the wreckage slowly come into sight. One of the Mounties walked over to us and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry" he said, "The driver was dead when we found him. He must have gone over the side two days ago when we had a bad snowstorm. There weren't many tracks. It was just a fluke that we noticed the sun shining off some chrome." He shook his head slowly and reached into his parka pocket. "Here, maybe you guys should read this. I guess he lived for a couple hours until the cold got to him." From a Trucker My Darling Wife, This is a letter that no man ever wants to write, but I'm lucky enough to have some time to say what I've forgotten to say so many times. I love you, Sweetheart. You used to kid me that I loved the truck more than you because I spent more time with her. I do love this piece of iron - she's been good to me. She's seen me through tough times and tough places and I could always count on her in a long haul and she was speedy in the stretches. She never let me down. But you want to know something? I love you for the same reasons. You've seen me through the tough times and places, too. Remember the first truck? That run down "ol' cornbinder" that kept us broke all the time but always made just enough money to keep us eating? You went out and got a job so that we could pay the rent and bills. Every cent I made went into the truck while your money kept us in food with a roof over our heads. I remember that I complained about the truck, but I don't remember you ever complaining when you came home tired from work and I asked you for money to go on the road again. If you did complain, I guess I didn't hear you. I was too wrapped up with my problems to think of yours. I think now of all the things you gave up for me. The clothes, the holidays, the parties, the friends. You never complained and somehow I never remembered to thank you for being you. When I sat having coffee with the boys, I always talked about the truck, my rig, my payments. I guess I forgot you were my partner even if you weren't in the cab with me. It was your sacrifices and determination as much as mine that finally got the new truck. I was so proud of that truck I was bursting. I was proud of you, too, but I never told you that. I took it for granted you knew, but if I had spent as much time talking with you as I did polishing chrome, perhaps I would have. I always knew your prayers rode with me. But this time they weren't enough. I'm hurt and it's bad. I've made my last mile and I want to say the things that should have been said so many times before. The things that were forgotten because I was too concerned about the truck and the job. I'm thinking about the missed anniversaries and birthdays. The school plays and hockey games that you went to alone because I was on the road. I'm, thinking of the peace of mind I had knowing that you were at home with the kids, waiting for me. The family dinners where you spent all your time telling your folks why I couldn't make it: I was busy changing oil; I was busy looking for parts; I was sleeping because I was leaving early the next morning. There was always a reason, but somehow they don't seem very important right now. When we were married, you didn't know how to change a light bulb. Within a couple of years, you were fixing the furnace in a blizzard while I was waiting for a load in Florida. You became a pretty good mechanic, helping me with repairs, and I was mighty proud of you that time you jumped into the truck and backed it up over the rose bushes. I was proud of you when I pulled into the yard and saw you sleeping in the car waiting for me. Whether it was two in the morning or two in the afternoon you always looked like a movie star to me. You're beautiful, you know. I guess I haven't told you that lately, but you are. I made lots of mistakes in my life, but if I only ever made one good decision, it was when I asked you to marry me. You never could understand what it was that kept me trucking, I couldn't either, but it was my way of life and you stuck with me. Good times, bad times, you were always there. I love you, sweetheart, and I love our kids. My body hurts but my heart hurts even more. You won't be there when I end this trip. For the first time since we've been together, I'm really alone and it scares me. I need you so badly, and I know it's too late. It's funny I guess, but what I have now is the truck. This damned truck that ruled our lives for so long. This twisted hunk of steel that I lived in and with for so many years. But it can't return my love. Only you can do that. You're a thousand miles away but I feel you here with me. I can see your face and feel your love and I'm scared to make the final run alone. Tell the kids that I love them very much and don't let them drive any truck for a living. I guess that's about it, honey. My God, but I love you so very much. Take care of yourself and always remember that I loved you more than anything in life. I just forgot to tell you. I Love You, Bill. To the Top

10 Little Truckers 10 little truckers, Cruising down the line One had a heavy foot, and then there were nine. 9 little truckers, the hour getting late -- One dozed doe a moment, and then there were eight. 8 little truckers, the evening seemed heaven -- One showed his driving skills, and then there were seven. 7 little truckers, their lives full of kicks -- One bought a bottle, and then there were six. 6 little truckers, impatient to arrive -- One jumped a traffic light, and then there were five. 5 little truckers, wheeling near the shore -- One viewed the scenery, and then there were four. 4 little truckers, happy as could be -- One passed on a hill, and then there were three. 3 little truckers, busy, it is true -- One neglected truck repairs, and then there were two. 2 little truckers, and the day nearly done -- One didn't dim his lights, and then there was one. 1 little trucker, who's still alive today -- By following the safety rules, he hopes to stay that way. Author Unknown To the Top

The Wreck On Highway 109

"The Wreck On Highway 109", written and copywrite to Ruth Gillis, received a First Place Award in the April 1999 issue of Poet's Review. Congratulations Ruth. A drunk man in an Oldsmobile, they said had run the light, that caused the six-car pileup, on 109 that night. When broken bodies lay about, and blood was everywhere, the sirens screamed out elegies, for death was in the air. A mother, trapped inside her car, was heard above the noise; her plaintive plea near split the air: "Oh, God, please spare my boys!", She fought to loose her pinioned hands; she struggled to get free, but mangled metal held her fast, in grim captivity. Her frightened eyes then focused on, where the back seat once had been, but all she saw was broken glass, and two children's seats crushed in. Her twins were nowhere to be seen; she did not hear them cry, and then she prayed they'd been thrown free, "Oh, God, don't let them die!". Then firemen came and cut her loose, but when they searched the back, they found therein no little boys, but the seat belts were intact. They thought the woman had gone mad, and was traveling alone, but when they turned to question her, they discovered she was gone. Policemen saw her running wild, and screaming above the noise, in beseeching supplication, "Please help me find my boys! They're four years old and wear blue shirts; their jeans are blue to match." One cop spoke up, "They're in my car, and they don't have a scratch. They said their daddy put them there, and gave them each a cone, then told them both to wait for Mom, to come and take them home. I've searched the area high and low, but I can't find their dad. He must have fled the scene, I guess, and that is very bad." The mother hugged the twins and said, while wiping at a tear, "He could not flee the scene, you see, for he's been dead a year." The cop just looked confused and asked, "Now, how can that be true?" The boys said, "Mommy, Daddy came, and left a kiss for you. He told us not to worry, and that you would be all right, and then he put us in this car, with the pretty, flashing light. We wanted him to stay with us, because we miss him so, but Mommy, he just hugged us tight, and said he had to go. He said someday we'd understand, and told us not to fuss, and he said to tell you, Mommy, he's watching over us." The mother knew without a doubt, that what they spoke was true, for she recalled their dad's last words, "I will watch over you." The firemen's notes could not explain, the twisted, mangled car, and how the three of them escaped, without a single scar. But on the cop's report was scribed, in print so very fine, An angel walked the beat tonight on Highway 109. Visit the Author, Ruth Gillis' website here. Copyright ©1999 Ruth Gillis. All Rights Reserved To the Top

This poem was sent to us a number of years ago and was reportedly written by a person who was in the actual classroom at the time. Due to the amount of tragic road deaths, perhaps it needs reading over by everyone again - just to remind some people that life isn't always what it seems. ‘Daddy’ Her hair was up in a ponytail, Her favourite dress tied with a bow. Today was 'Daddy's Day' at school, And she couldn't wait to go. But her mummy tried to tell her, That she probably should stay home. ’Cause the kids might not understand, If she went to school alone. But she was not afraid - She knew just what to say. What to tell her classmates - Of why he wasn't there today. But still her mother worried, For her to face this day alone, And that was why once again, She tried to keep her daughter home. But the little girl went to school, Eager to tell them all. About a dad she never sees - A dad who never calls. There were daddy's along the wall in back, for everyone to meet. Children squirming impatiently, Anxious in their seats. One by one the teacher called, A student from the class. To introduce their daddy, As the seconds slowly passed. At last the teacher called her name, and every child turned around to stare. Each of them was searching - For a man who wasn't there. "Where's her daddy at?" She heard a boy call out. "She probably doesn't have one," Another student dared to shout. And from somewhere near the back, She heard a daddy say, "Looks like another deadbeat dad, Too busy to waste his day." The words did not offend her, As she smiled up at her Mum. And looked back at her teacher, Who told her to go on. And with hands behind her back, Slowly she began to speak. And out of the mouth of a little child, Came words incredibly unique. "My Daddy couldn't be here, Because he lives so far away. But I know he wishes he could be, Since this is such a special day. And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know. All about my daddy, And how much he loves me so." "He loved to tell me stories - He taught me to ride my bike. He surprised me with PINK ROSES, And taught me to fly a kite. We used to share fudge sundaes, And ice cream in a cone. And though you cannot see him, I'm not standing here alone. ’Cause my daddy's always with me, Even though we are apart. I know because he told me, He'll forever be in my heart". With that, her little hand reached up, And lay across her chest. Feeling her own heartbeat, Beneath her favourite dress. And from somewhere in the crowd of dads, Her mother stood in tears. Proudly watching her daughter, Who was wise beyond her years. For she stood up for the love Of a man not in her life. Doing what was best for her, Doing what was right. And when she dropped her hand back down, Staring straight into the crowd. She finished with a voice so soft, But its message clear and loud. "I love my daddy very much, He's my shining star. And if he could, he'd be here, But heaven's just too far. You see Daddy was a Truckie - And he died just this past year, He was in a real bad accident - And now he can’t be here. But sometimes when I close my eyes, It's like he never went away." And then she closed her eyes, And saw him there that day. And to her mother's amazement, She witnessed with surprise. A room full of daddies and children, All starting to close their eyes. Who knows what they saw before them, and Who knows what they felt inside. Perhaps for merely a second, They saw him by her side. "I know you're with me Daddy," To the silence she called out. And what happened next - made believers, Of those once filled with doubt. Not one in that room could explain it, For each of their eyes had been closed. But there on the desk beside her, Was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose. And a child was blessed, if only for a moment, By the love of her shining bright star. And given the gift of believing, That heaven is never too far. 'Author Unknown'. To the Top

If I Had My Life To Live Over!

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day. I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage. I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded. I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace. I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth. I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband. I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed. I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains. I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life. I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime. Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle. When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner." There would have been more "I love you's" More "I'm sorry's."? But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really SEE it ... LIVE it and never give it back.? STOP SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF!!! Don't worry about who doesn't like you, who has more, or who's doing what, instead, let's cherish the relationships we have with those who do love us. Let's think about what we have been blessed with, and what we are doing each day to promote ourselves mentally, physically, emotionally. I hope you have a blessed day. by Erma Bombeck (Written after Erma found out she was dying from cancer). To the Top

Re Author's
	(If you are the Author of, or know the Author's Name/s of any poems here which do not have the Author's details, would you please be kind enough to email the contact details to us. Thank You.) To the Top FastCounter by bCentral