GPS (Grief. Panic, and Swearing)

I wanted to be in New London, New Hampshire, by 4 PM for my sister-in-law's wake. I cried more for my brother John's loss this week than her sudden death. John does not display his emotions easily, but the crackle in his voice when he called with the news revealed his grief.

The GPS on Google Maps showed the 114-mile trip to the funeral parlor from my town in Massachusetts to New London would take slightly over two hours. So, my husband, Harvey, and I would be there on time; we left at 1:30, giving us extra time, if needed, to make the 4 to 6 PM wake.
Knowing I had not driven that far lately, I planned to break up the trip home by taking Harvey to dinner at the halfway point home.

The GPS voice directed me to the major highway connecting Massachusetts to New Hampshire.
Crossing the New Hampshire border, we stopped at the visitor's center. I checked the GPS, which showed 39 minutes to the destination. It was now 3:30; we would arrive right on time.

The GPS told me to leave the major highway, turn onto Route 127, and stay on this route for eight miles. I pressed on, thinking we must be close to New London at the end of this road. I was used to 35 MPH off the highway, but these roads have three speeds to follow: 35 MPH when in a town, 50 MPH when passing farmland, and a surprising 70 MPH on this two-lane road. At the end of the 8-mile trip, the GPS voice spoke again with instructions to turn on North Main Street. Finally, we were there until the instructions told us to stay on this road for 10 miles.
It was now past 4:15, and I was nervous about the time. A few left and right turns finally got us to our destination.

We arrived not at the expected 4 PM but at 4:45. The GPS took us on the scenic route for over three hours.

I told my sister Cathy about my GPS adventure; she asked for my phone and installed WAZE, another GPS. I should have better directions getting home using this system.

It was dark when we left the funeral parlor; I set the WAZE GPS back home to Massachusetts.
I just started driving down the road, waiting for Waze to give me directions.

"Come on, talk to me!"

I drove for about 10 minutes and started yelling at the iPhone.

"Come on, tell me where to go. We just want to go home."

I pulled over in a vacant lot. I realized I was off course, heading west instead of east, so I switched to Google Maps to get voice instructions.
I headed out again, turning east, and waited for Google Maps to talk to me.
It was silent. The road was pitch black and hilly, and I had to keep my hand on the switch to high beams for passing cars. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard; I lost feeling in my fingers.
I just wanted to get us home safely.

Now I am a light swearer, meaning I do not use the f-word, but "shit" and "God-damn" are not off the table. So, when a pickup truck started tailgating me on the dark road, I swore, using my favorite words.
Seeing the speed limit in the dark was difficult, so I did not know how fast to go, but I must have been under the speed limit because the pickup truck tailgating was sitting on his horn behind me.

Finally, he passed, honking as if to say: "Up yours!"

It was on this trip home Harvey witnessed my going through different stages during the hundred miles or so:

Grief: Nearly crying, I kept on repeating: "I just want us home!"

Panic: Hitting the steering wheel, repeating: "Please God, Please God, Please God."

Swearing: This scared Harvey the most. Not only did he hear a torrent of (unprintable) swear words spewing from my mouth, but he also expected my head to turn 360 degrees and a demonic presence to appear in the car.
I cursed loudly, using my old and new curse words targeting the pickup truck, the State of New Hampshire for its dark streets, speed limits, potholes, and the GPS system directing me to dark snake-like roads.

Still, the navigation system was silent, so I handed Harvey the phone as my navigator. The phone in his hands kept me from tossing it out the window.
I stopped a second time to check the phone map, not that I did not trust Harvey, but with no voice, the map had to be wrong! It still showed we were to stay on Route 11.

I discovered why the GPS was silent with my third pullover in a vacant parking lot. In handling my phone, my sister accidentally shut off the sound. I turned it on, and that sweet GPS voice told me to stay on this road for 32 miles.

We had taken the scenic route again, although nothing was interesting to see in the dark. Concord, New Hampshire, was 32 miles away, which meant another 32 miles of screaming, swearing, praying, and panicking in the darkness.
Reaching Concord, we were finally put on a major highway. About 45 minutes later, that glorious sign appeared:

WELCOME TO MASSACHUSETTS.

We arrived home at 9 PM. It took us three hours to drive home. Instead of my planned dinner, we stopped at a sub shop for sandwiches to bring home.
I appreciated our town with its beautiful bright streetlights, visible speed postings, and highways.

Knowing we will only use the GPS locally, I feel better now!