Letting Go

I sold my dad's truck yesterday. To some, that might not be much to brag about, but to me, it's a very big deal. My dad died from bone cancer seven years ago this past March. My relationship with my dad was complicated. I loved Dad and I knew he loved me, but I was always trying to make him proud and I constantly felt like I missed the mark. Regardless, I still miss Dad quite often. My decision to keep his truck after he died was not only practical, (I needed a truck to haul mulch for my flower beds and to take my big outdoor dog to the vet) but also sentimental. Also, my husband and I wanted to buy a Harley, but we couldn't afford a new car payment and motorcycle payment at the same time. So we opted to keep the truck as part of my share of Dad's estate which allowed us to allot funds for the Harley. At first, my husband used the truck as his personal vehicle. And I occasionally used it when I needed to haul something. I'm sure Dad would have been pleased that his truck was being put to good use.

The first time I drove the truck, it was just about three weeks after Dad had passed. I wasn't even thinking how it would affect me; I was just thinking I needed to take my dog, Suki, to the vet. That afternoon, I got in and started it up. One mile down the road, it hit me. The interior of the truck still held his scent, a mixture of cinnamon oil, Polo cologne and tabacco. The counsole was also still full of his stuff; pens, reading glasses, spare change, business cards, and odd rocks that Dad liked to pick up wherever he went. I started crying so hard I almost had to pull over. I don't know how I made it home. Everytime I got in the truck, I was reminded of my dad, and the good memories started outweighing the bad.

After we had the Harley paid off, and the air conditioner in the truck quit working, Jeff decided it was time for him to get a new vehicle. We still needed a truck, and even though I told Jeff it would be okay to trade in Dad's truck, I think he knew deep down that I wasn't really ready to let it go. So we kept it, and Jeff bought a new sedan. So for the past two and one-half years the truck has set off in the side yard not being driven much and getting covered with a layer of black tree sap. When we have decided to use the truck to haul something, often times the battery has been dead or it's had some other mechanical problem. Jeff has procrastinated with taking it to a mechanic, not really wanting to spend money on repairs for something we don't use that often. Lately when I've looked at the truck, I've thought about how uspset Dad would be that his property was not being properly cared for. The thought of giving the truck to my son had occured to me, but I was afraid that it wouldn't be reliable enough for him to drive from Nashville to visit us back home. After praying about it for some time, the solution presented itself.

My husband got bit by the new car bug, and traded his sedan for an extended-cab pickup. There was no longer any need to keep Dad's old pickup. So, when my neighbor, Steve, mentioned that he was upset over a missed opportunity to purchase his aunt's old Toyota Corolla for $800 for his teenage son, I thought, "I'll sell you my dad's truck for $800." But, I didn't say what was on my mind. I let the moment pass. I still had to ask myself if I was really ready to let go of the truck. Some part of me was afraid that letting go of the truck would be like letting go of my dad all over again. A week later, my husband called me from work and informed me that a co-worker was interested in purchasing the truck for his teenage son who had just gotten his license. Was I ready to let it go? Without a doubt, I was finally ready. However, I felt that I owed my neighbor first dibs. I told Jeff that I would offer to sell it to Steve first, and if he didn't want it, then the co-worker could purchase it for $800. Steve jumped at the offer and by the end of the week had given me $800 cash.

It was exciting to see Steve and his son working on the truck; cleaning it up, and fixing things under the hood. Within a few days, they had the engine roaring like a lion, and Dad's old truck found a new life. It's been theraputic for me to see someone taking care of Dad's truck and a weight off my shoulders that the truck is not just being left to rust. And when Jeff and I cleaned out the truck, I had an overwhelming feeling that I had made Dad proud.