Another Goodbye

It's always difficult to say goodbye to a loved one, whether they've died, moved out, or just leaving for a short time. And while it's most difficult to let go of someone, it can be challenging to let go of some thing, such as a car.

But this isn't any old car. Well, it's old. But this car carries with it many years of memories, and for me, it's a part of my late husband. It's his 1971 Oldsmobile 442. A classic car by any definition. The muscle car of muscle cars. The kind of car that makes heads turn and compells strangers to stop and talk about the car, their car, old cars and other stories. It's more than a piece of metal with an engine. It's a conversation piece, a toy, and a triumph. But it only sits in our garage taking up valuable space. I know. Shameful of me to speak this way of this piece of mechanical history. But it's true. My present husband and I had every intention of fixin' 'er up. But this requires money, knowledge and time. We have time, but not so much of the other two.

My present husband, Brad, had dreamed of tinkering with a muscle car again. Back in his younger days he and his brother took apart and refurbished old cars. But that was ages ago, and his knowledge of cars has dissipated into ether. He purchased a book or two to help, but the desire isn't what it once was. We had talked about rebuilding the car and taking it to car shows, big and small, and just having a fun car to drive around in on warm Sundays. And it was an investment. The car has increased in value over the years because of its rarity and Oldsmobile being phased out as a manufacturer. This rocket on four wheels was also going to contribute to our retirement. It was a great dream, and we had fun with it.

The part that is most difficult is letting go of my late husband. I mainly held on to this steel beauty for the memories. It was a big part of Mark's life. He viewed it like a child of his own, since he couldn't have any children of his own. He shared stories with me of when he first had it and how he would drag with other muscle cars in the neighborhood, and he would usually win these little races. He purchased the car from an elderly woman, a blue haired woman who was also a retired schoolteacher. She was the original owner. I wonder what possessed her to purchase such a car?

As we get closer to selling it, I find myself becoming more emotional and even grieving about it. It's almost like losing Mark again. I sat in the car the other day and imagined Mark driving it; shifting the gears, opening the windows, blasting the 8 track player with his favorite Badfinger songs, and just burning rubber. I caress the leather seats, adjust the rear view mirror and grip the steering wheel. I think about him and how happy he was when he drove the 442. I can picture him laughing and singing along with the stereo. And when he comes home he gently pulls his baby into the garage and then covers her with her blue blanket.

It's been five years since he died, but some days I can feel him and see him in my mind so clearly, as if it was yesterday. Slowly I've been sorting through his things, keeping what mattered most to me. But now it's time to let go of his baby, his 442. It will be like losing him all over again, but it will also be somewhat carthartic, too. But only on one condition will I sell it, the new owner must enjoy it and love it like he did.

Our Heroes

Growing up we all had our heroes; Batman (my hero!), Superman, Wonder Woman, Spiderman and the list goes on. We would watch them on TV, read them in comic books or see them at the movies. We lived vicariously through them, through their good deeds, super powers and cool gadgets. Now we're adults, but who are our super heroes? Is it the President of the United States? A celebrity? A neighbor?  Your parents?

We all seem to need a hero.  Someone to look up to.  Someone who has led their life in an admirable fashion or has done something that shouldn't go unnoticed.  These are everyday people who have faced unusual challenges, but didn't run away.  Rather they charged into the fire, fought the odds and came out stronger, and maybe even happier. One of these people is in my life; my mother-in-law, Jean. She's 82 years old, full of spunk and laughs all the time. She's lived through the Great Depression, WWII and other wars, the women's movement, and 14 presidents. She grew up in a well-to-do family with a nanny in southwest Michigan. She married very young and had four children. During these years her family lived the "good life" until the economy took a turn for the worst in the 70s.  She was forced to go to work as her husband was struggling to make ends meet. But through it all, she never lost her faith.  As the years rolled by her husband's health worsened and she became his caregiver.  She never complained, she endured and had her friends to support her.

Early in the new 21st century she was bombarded with bad news and tragedy. First, she was diagnosed with breast cancer in her early 70s. Scared and unsure of her fate, she followed doctor's orders and had a mastectomy. After months of treatment, she was cancer free, but her husband's health was out of control. Within a year of her cancer treatment, her husband died. But despite the grief and sorrow she felt, she also knew that he was in a better place.

But more tragedy awaited her, to test her strength. Her youngest daughter, Darcy, had been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and had to undergo dialysis. During her first dialysis, she suffered a massive heart attack and died. The whole family was shocked and devastated. The family was still recovering from the death of their father. Darcy was only 52 years old and the mother of three boys.

This past Thanksgiving we enjoyed Jean's company at our new home. We had the usual dishes, lots of laughter and great conversation. The day after Thanksgiving Jean and I decided to go shopping. We endured the long lines, made new friends in those long lines and her and I had a heart to heart talk. I asked her, point blank, how she survived so much tragedy and sadness in such a short period of time. She told me that when her husband died that she knew he was in a better place.  And while she would miss him, she knew his quality of life wasn't what it once was and he was at peace now. As for her daughter's untimely death, same thing. Her daughter's health, too, had suffered and Jean felt she was probably in a better place, too. She told me she had to see it this way or she couldn't move on. It was too much to deal with, but she found a way. After that conversation, my admiration and respect for Jean grew, tremendously.

Jean has demonstrated to me faith, hope and strength, despite the challenges presented to her. She has maintained a positive attitude, a love of life and a sense of humor. Next week she's flying down to Florida to hang out with her sister for a week. And probably after that she'll be going to a bridge card tournament, as she frequently does. And this is why she's my hero.