Joe's Car
In 2001, Joe totaled his fairly new car. He got quite a bit in insurance money, but had just been laid off, and didn't want to blow all the money on a new car. So instead he bought his dream car. A giant, blue, 1989 Cadillac Fleetwood.
This car was huge. And ugly. And in need of many repairs.
But this car gave Joe this bizarre sense of pride and happiness that very few things had prior. He loved this car. He gave tours of the car, especially of the trunk space. He reveled in the fact that it failed inspection 3 times, and would continuously work on fixing problems, and washing this car.
Joe really loved this car.
Then Joe died. And he left behind his car. This car that I now loved because it had Joe's spirit inside it. I would sit in it for long stretches of time after he died. I would put on the cd player, and listen to the music he had last been playing. I would inhale the distinctive smells that went along with this car, and that Joe had smelled like.
The car was a tangible connection to Joe.
But the car didn't want to live without Joe. It stopped running in July. In August fluids began leaking out from underneath the car, flooding my driveway with sludge. The roof of the car had become horribly faded from the sun.
So it was decided that the car needed to go.
I cannot convey in words how hard it was to let go of this car. This car that I despised when Joe was alive. This car that I resented because Joe spent so much time working on. This car suddenly felt like a living being.
I went to NY to my sister's house for 2 weeks that August. While I was in NY the car was going to be towed away. The morning that the car was being towed, I had a dream.
I saw Joe, and he asked me what was going on with his car.
I began crying, and said, "I'm donating it, because it was falling apart. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
He told me that he was glad I was doing that. That he hated watching it falling apart. He wasn't angry, he was glad.
And I woke up completely at peace.
I miss that car. I wish it was still here.
-b
This car was huge. And ugly. And in need of many repairs.
But this car gave Joe this bizarre sense of pride and happiness that very few things had prior. He loved this car. He gave tours of the car, especially of the trunk space. He reveled in the fact that it failed inspection 3 times, and would continuously work on fixing problems, and washing this car.
Joe really loved this car.
Then Joe died. And he left behind his car. This car that I now loved because it had Joe's spirit inside it. I would sit in it for long stretches of time after he died. I would put on the cd player, and listen to the music he had last been playing. I would inhale the distinctive smells that went along with this car, and that Joe had smelled like.
The car was a tangible connection to Joe.
But the car didn't want to live without Joe. It stopped running in July. In August fluids began leaking out from underneath the car, flooding my driveway with sludge. The roof of the car had become horribly faded from the sun.
So it was decided that the car needed to go.
I cannot convey in words how hard it was to let go of this car. This car that I despised when Joe was alive. This car that I resented because Joe spent so much time working on. This car suddenly felt like a living being.
I went to NY to my sister's house for 2 weeks that August. While I was in NY the car was going to be towed away. The morning that the car was being towed, I had a dream.
I saw Joe, and he asked me what was going on with his car.
I began crying, and said, "I'm donating it, because it was falling apart. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
He told me that he was glad I was doing that. That he hated watching it falling apart. He wasn't angry, he was glad.
And I woke up completely at peace.
I miss that car. I wish it was still here.
-b
6 comments:
Yeeep... *sigh* I'm reading this and just really know that feeling.
Sorry, b.
*hugs*
((((b))))
Heavy heart :o(
I wonder if Joe's driving it up in heaven? :o)
What a lovely gift the dream was.
I know 'the car' feeling too.
Losing the tangible connections really hurts.
A
((HUGS))
Wow, what a dream, sounds tough.
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