My Father the Car

Two years ago, my father passed away suddenly.  He was not supposed to go yet.  Although his health was far from ideal, it would have sustained him for at least another ten years.  Unfortunately, a routine knee replacement mixed with some negligence and apathy shortened his life; fortunately it was likely to have been a tainted life of which my fun-loving father would have disapproved.

After the funeral there was much reminiscing mixed with a long to-do list.  Among my mother’s concerns was a car that my father had leased only four months prior.   Because it was listed in both my parents’ names, my mother could not simply turn it back in to the dealership and be done with it.  She already had a car that she loved driving—her little white Mustang—leaving the small Lexus sedan a “loose end” in her life. 

We were already a three-car household and were not in need of another.  However, the one car we leased was coming due in a few more months.  Thus, as an act of kindness in a bad time we offered to take the remainder of the lease off my mother’s hands, helping to consolidate one of her biggest concerns.  We cancelled our February vacation plans and flew to Florida instead, spending the week driving up the East Coast and back to New England.  We made the most of it by stopping with our daughter to visit several colleges of interest along the way. 

Once in New England, we made a startling discovery.  The car, which Lexus assured us was front-wheel drive, turned out to be rear powered.  In the icy cold winter months, it was impossible to force it up our long driveway.   My husband bought two-hundred pounds of winter sanding salt, which he carried in the trunk of the car in order to provide extra traction.  In the end, the proved unsafe to drive during most months of the year, so it stayed sequestered in the garage.  Once a week we would start it up just to make sure it was still running. 

The other issue with the car was the term of the lease.  My father no  longer drove to work every day, so he accepted a 10,000 mile per year lease agreement, which would have been more than adequate for his needs.  We, however, eat this much mileage without even trying.  Once my daughter went off to college, my husband began driving my daughter’s car to work in order to keep pace with the mileage limits of the lease.  Thus, the car was once again relegated to the garage.

During the limited times we were able to use this car in a practical sense, driving in it as a family, it rode nicely and was enjoyable.  Every once in a while, however, an artifact of my father sprang forth from the car.  One day, his sunglasses appeared unexpectedly in the back seat.  We do not know where they had been until that time, but there they were!   A few months later, an ipod we had purchased for him as a Father’s Day gift many years prior materialized from under the passenger seat.  It was engraved with a message to “Grampa” and made a nice memento for my young niece.  On a few occasions, my daughter reported getting strong whiffs of her Grampa’s cologne.  She loved to ride in that car as she could feel his presence like one of his huge hugs.

Last weekend we brought the lease of this car to a premature end.  Lexus sent us a promotion offering to forgive the remainder of the lease if we acquired something from the current stock.  I was long overdue for a car myself; my new RX350 is a far superior vehicle for the New England winters—at least for the typical New England winter, as opposed to the snowless one we are currently experiencing.  I was glad to replace a car that sat idly and sadly in our garage unused.   Though we acquired it as the result of a sentimental act, it was inappropriate at all times in its size, its features, and its capacity for our family’s uses. 

Then it hit me: the car was my father.  Leasing that car was one of my father’s last acts in life, his agreement with Lexus sustaining well beyond his final breath.  The artifacts that we found were his eyes and ears, watching over us and toying with us—perhaps judging us—just as he had in life.  The poor fit of that car into our lifestyles was just as my father had always been, a bit of a mismatch for our taste, our beliefs, and our views.  Yet despite its many flaws, the car was ours and remained so, sometimes meeting our needs and then stored away at times when it did not. 

For the past few days I have been surprised when I open the garage and the car is not where I expect to find it.   Like my father, it will take time to adjust to this loss.   The rhythm of our lives will adapt to the changes we have made, but that little car will always occupy its place in our lives.

Tomorrow's blog: Portrait of The Artist