A long list of memories

On Thursday I came head-on, face to face, mano a mano with a big dose of reality that I've avoided for 3 and a half years...selling my Dad's beloved truck. I had decided early in the summer that this would be one of my personal goals (like those mentioned in a post below about big decisions), but classically avoided it...until now.
There was this man who appeared on my back doorstep the week of McKinley's birthday party. He was hell bent on convincing me to sell Dad's truck rather than donate it as I had his convertible. I explained that the truck was packed full of memories and was perhaps too painful for me to see on the road. He pushed on, maybe someone could get some good use out of it...someone like him. He made me think (yikes!). So, I told him now was not the time and to give me a few weeks, I promised to consider it...that was all.
Thursday was the day that God sent this man again to my back door. I knew it was time and I instantly was teary-eyed. I felt more comfortable talking with this gentleman about Dad's truck than I had any other hoodlum who'd stopped and asked before - one who even cussed me out, no less. Thankfully, Cary was home on lunch so I wasn't totally alone with this landmark decision. He looked at the truck and made an offer. I cried...stupid, I know...but it's the reality of it. I went inside to think clearly - and cry some more, and came out with a strange determination. Okay, sold.
OMG.
I asked that he give me until 5pm so I could clean it out ... and wrap my head around the fact that this piece of metal would now leave my life forever. It had been in my life almost as long as my Dad.
The afternoon was tough, but not as tough as those final moments as the man pulled my Dad's truck - now his - out of our driveway and onto its new home. My heart broke a little more then...not from the loss of a material item, but it further confirmed that my Dad really is gone. I've lived with those simple words everyday since December 1, 2005 - Dad is gone - but it is no easier today than it was then. I miss him with all my heart, there isn't a day that goes by without the thought of a phone call or a funny life moment he would appreciate, a great photo I happen to shoot of McKinley...and McKinley himself, oh how he has missed out on having this man as his Grandpa.
As I cried, I very quickly settled this new fact of life in...the truck is gone, but those memories are always there! I know with as much certainty as I can muster that
#1 This was the right time for ME to let go
#2 That this was indeed the man who should have this classic truck
#3 That life would go on without that truck sitting unused in my driveway and it would be a better truck for having run as it was intended to.
I also know that God and my Dad had a hand in this. The man's name is Mike. He was even a little taken aback when he saw my Dad's floor mats - Tazmanian Devil with MIKE imprinted beneath. He'd had those for a long time and it was only fitting that our Mike (Dad) should pass on his funny little floor mats to the new Mike.
The new Mike promised, without my even asking, that he would take excellent care of this truck and that he would bring it by again when he had it fixed up and looking like a million bucks. That made me feel so good.
I never thought I could do this, I mean I know it's metal...but it personified my Dad. EVERYBODY knew Dad in his truck. He loved that thing and took excellent care of it from day one. I remember how he proudly informed me a few months before he died that he'd rolled a quarter of a million miles on that thing. They don't make 'em like that anymore.
Finally, the hardest part of watching the truck go - this long list of memories that has been constantly running through my mind;
The cold, wintry day that Dad fooled me into taking a drive (me driving at the age of about 12 - eager to jump behind the wheel as he always let me). He drove me to the coal mine near our home, shut down for the winter, pulled up this HUGE hill, parked and instructed me to get out, switch to 4WD and move us up the hill...in snow...old fashioned snow, lots of it! I think I peed my pants a little that day, but I never forgot laughing nervously as I tried so hard to do everything the way he'd taught me.
Then there's that time, after the divorce of my parents, that he spotted me cruising Wabash with my girlfriends. He pulled over, as did I and we chatted - which back then was about as much talking as we were 'allowed' to do because of his girlfriend. It was a fun opportunity to share my weekend events with Dad.
I remember driving to Southern Indiana to get tires for the truck with Mom and Dad. We stayed in a hotel that night and left the next day to get the tires, on our way home Mom and Dad surprised me with a special stop to pick up my beloved dog, Mac (weird to think we now have McKinley...another Mac!). I had no idea we were getting a dog and I was so excited!
I laugh out loud when I think of riding in the truck as a family...we would hit a bump and Mom would giggle and complain about the truck being so bouncy...it wasn't good on the boobs. She's going to kill me when she reads this.
That was the truck he took me to my Grandparents' house to see my Grandpa just after Dad had found my Grandmother - who had passed away in her sleep. That was a quiet drive.
We took that truck shooting together, we took that truck to dance class together, we took that truck sledding in Deming Park together. We loaded up gobs of wedding gifts in that truck together...me in a beautiful wedding gown, him looking dapper and so happy in a tuxedo.
Then, there was that time that we committed to repairing our injured relationship - post divorce, post girlfriend, post bitterness and anger...in that truck at L.S. Ayres on Christmas Eve, 1998. Thank God I have a picture of that day.
I miss my Dad so very badly, and I have hated having to do these things at such a relatively young age. But I am evermore thankful every day to have been given all of these beautiful memories, especially those in a red and white Chevy with a quarter of a million miles logged.
This truly is the end of an era.
Lynn