farewell old foe

Yesterday, I saw Jeff’s truck drive out of the driveway for the last time. I heard it start with its’ deep, gravely voice for the last time. I smelled the interior that smells so intensely of him for the last time.
After he had died, I swore that the truck would never leave my possession. It would be with me forever if Jeff could not. It sounds silly, especially considering my dislike frustration with the vehicle over the last few years. Jeff loved that truck. It was part of him in some ways. The smell. The sound. The size. All equated with him.
But I have been watching as it was covered in snow and this week slowly remerges from this white blanket. Before this, I noticed how ….lonely and left-behind it looked. I could imagine it in a few years of sitting in our yard and noticed the things that would fall off. Fall apart. Rot.
This is what has always bothered me about the `Blue Mule`. It has always needed something. Parts. A dent repaired. A good cleaning. And no matter what, Jeff would do it. The money sunk into the truck would make me cringe. But he loved that truck. He didn`t want it to fall apart. Become a piece of junk.
So watching it slowly rot in our yard is hurting. This isn`t what he`d want. He would want it to be taken care of. It is just a possession, I know, but one that he saw value in.
So I decided to give a new home. I thought of selling it to someone who could use it. But the possible $1500-$2500 that I could get for it makes it not worth the pain of watching it drive the same streets. The intake of breath as I see it coming toward me. The brief moment that I think, ``There he is!`` And the harsh descent as I see some fresh shaven man who does not know that he is driving my love`s beloved truck behind the wheel.
Instead, I have a different plan. A plan that I know Jeff would approve of. The truck will remain in the family. Just not our yard. I`m giving it to Jeff`s son, Glenn. Glenn can afford to keep the truck running. He understands the importance of the truck and all it means. He knew how Jeff loved the truck. It won`t be some rotting piece of metal in his yard. He`ll use it. He`ll remember his dad driving it. And I won`t have to see it. It will be `living` in a town at the top of the island. A town Jeff loved. A town he fished out of. So although, this part of Jeff won`t be with me, it will be a place that Jeff was happy and it will be cared for and its`new owner will know what it means.
The driveway looks so empty with its’ huge blue occupant. Ridiculously, I feel vulnerable without it being there. As if Jeff isn’t watching over us and announcing his presence in our household by marking his spot with the truck.