The Car

Anyone who knows me know I am a +Honda girl. Ever since my parents handed down their 1977 Honda wagon to me, I have been a fan. My husband, Jim, knew this when he married me. So many years later when my 50th birthday was creeping up, he decided I needed my dream car, a Honda convertible, and that meant an S2000. But of course, being Jim, he did his research and discovered a special model, the S2000CR, and he determined it was exactly what we needed.

Two things worried me about this. First, CR stands for Club Racer and as Car and Driver stated, “this is a track-day toy.” I am not a race car driver. I don’t want to be. Second, the CR is not an automatic convertible, meaning it has a removable hard top. This was never an easy task for the two of us and usually the removal or replacement of the top led to hurt feelings is not an argument. It quickly became apparent that it was his almost 50 present, not mine. But it made him so happy, I really didn’t mind.

He even went to great lengths to make the car a more comfortable ride for me by changing the suspension to make it less bouncy and adding sound dampening. When he started commuting into the city, he didn’t want to put in the miles so the S, as we’d begun to call it (also known as his baby) became my daily commute car. Every day when I returned home from work he would circle around it checking to see what new damage may have been inflicted. Usually there was none. Finally I’d had enough and we got a third car for commuting and the S was for weekends.

We took some great trips with wonderful memories made in that car; through redwoods, to the beach, to Yosemite. It really was fun and the S grew on me over the years. When Jim was diagnosed with cancer he vowed to drive the S to every doctor appointment and treatment for as long as he could. The staff loved seeing him tool up in his sporty little roadster wearing his Cancer Sucks t-shirt. We tried to attend a CR meet in LA while he was in the midst of radiation treatments. He didn’t want to be taking morphine while driving and the withdrawals made him so sick that we had to go home the morning after we arrived. He was so disappointed.

Car washing at CR Meet

As his illness progressed, bills added up and disability payments were delayed. Jim decided he need to sell the car to make sure we had enough money. I begged him not to. Yes, we had enough money, but more importantly it would have broken my heart to watch him watch that car drive away. Fortunately the disability check came through about a month before he died, so the car was never sold. It brought him such joy to work on, drive and just look at that car. He never had to say goodbye to it. I am so grateful for the happiness that car brought him.

A few months after Jim died, I contacted a friend we’d made through the +S2000 Club of America CR community. Although I was looking for advice on selling the car, he convinced me to not make any quick decisions and helped me understand what I needed to do to keep and take care of the car. First and foremost, I knew if I was going to drive it at all it had to be topless. But in order for that to happen, I needed to take off the roof, not an easy task. In order for that to happen, I needed to build or buy a rack to store to the roof on once it was removed. Once I built the rack out of PVC (taDa), I needed a place to put it, so I cleaned out the shed, making room for the rack and roof. But before that could happen, I needed to be able to park the now topless car in the garage. And in order for that to happen, I needed to clean out the garage. As I silently shook my fist at Jim for the number of saws (or whatever tool) he had, I realized, if the tables were turned and he was cleaning out my ‘cave’, he’d be cursing me out for the number of pairs of shoes I owned. So I sent a silent prayer up thanking him for always making sure we had the right tool for the job. Once there was space, I realized I needed to remove a workbench he had built. Every step led to another, like the house that Jack Built, and this one brought tears as I had to physically break down something he had built. 

Finally I was able to remove and store the hood and park the car in the garage. In the winter I have it on a battery tender and in the summer I still drive it on weekends and short road trips. This weekend, I am making a pilgrimage of sorts, to honor Jim. S2000 drivers from around the world are gathering at #S2KHomecoming to celebrate all things S2000.I will be taking a road trip, this time without him physically there, but always a part of me, and always a part of his baby. It will be bittersweet for me to be there, knowing how happy it would have made him to be a part of such an event. But I know with all my heart he will be the angel smiling at my side the entire time.

Fake it 'til you make it

"It's so good to see you thriving," exclaimed one of my friends, seeing pictures of a recent trip to Yosemite. If she only knew.

If she only knew the trip was an homage to Jim, a retracing of a drive we made in 2011, one of our happiest days ever. It was his birthday and we drove with a group of S2000 drivers to Yosemite, had lunch and drove home. We laughed, talked and just enjoyed each other's company surrounded by the beauty of nature. I wanted to re-drive that route, to feel a connection to that happy time.

If she only knew a reason for the trip was to leave a little bit of Jim behind. As I looked hopelessly for signs of water in the drought stricken Mirror Lake, I was left to my own reflections... remembering the happy time when we had traveled to Yosemite with my parents and we sneaked away for a little quiet time to that very same spot, loving each other on a granite boulder beneath the towering trees. Now I was retracing that hike, to find no beautiful lake, but a spot as dry as my heart felt. I left a little of Jim at the base of the boulder, and my tears fell. Tears of abject loss mixed with the joy of remembering the love we shared that day.

If she only knew I booked a room at The Ahwahnee lodge because I'd always wanted to stay there with Jim and never got the chance. As I sat on the balcony gazing up at the massive granite wall, I cried at the overwhelming sense of loss that we would never ever share this experience together.

If she only knew how incredibly hard it is for me to even leave the house, and how much harder it is to come home to an empty home. I drive away and feel like I am leaving a part of him behind. I come home to the quiet and long to hear his hearty laugh and a warm, welcoming hug. I curl up on the couch where he used to sit and watch his favorite movies and shows, over and over. I alternate between wanting to clean house and move to wanting to preserve every note he wrote, every object he touched. This does not feel like thriving.

If she only knew that I still cry. I yearn for my husband's arms around me. Some days I hardly feel like I am thriving, I feel like I am barely surviving. I get up and go through the motions. I know I need to eat, so I eat. I know I need human interaction, so I leave the house. And with time, I am able to find joy in these activities, yet there are moments when I still feel an aching emptiness so strong it feels like a punch to the gut.

I know this too shall pass. Just like there are moments where I can't even breathe, I also find the joy in gratitude. Just this morning as I was thinking about our upcoming wedding anniversary I realized, with a full heart, that I would not give up the life we had for anything. The cost of losing him was high, but the love we created lives on.

Paulo Coelho, is a Brazilian lyricist and novelist writes, “You must be the person you have never had the courage to be. Gradually, you will discover that you are that person, but until you can see this clearly, you must pretend and invent.”

Or as I would word it less eloquently, 'fake it 'til you make it.' Wikipedia explains "Fake it 'til you make it" (also called "act as if") as a common catchphrase.

The purpose is to avoid getting caught in a self-fulfilling prophecy related to one's fear of not being confident, ...It is often recommended as a therapy technique for combating depression. In this case, the idea is to go through the routines of life as if one were enjoying them, despite the fact that initially it feels forced, and continue doing this until the happiness becomes real.

There are days I do feel strong, moments of clarity when I can focus on the love we shared and be grateful for the person I have become. But there are also days when I crawl into a little ball and cry and wail for the the death of my husband like it was yesterday. If she only knew.

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Get Busy Living

It has been 18 months since my husband, Jim, died. We were together 18 years. It is strange how I find solace in number patterns. It takes 9 months for a baby to come into the world. Jim lived for 9 months with his cancer diagnosis, and with his death I was ushered, unwillingly, into a new world. A dear friend recently posted to my Facebook wall, “It's so nice to see you living life to the fullest and enjoying yourself. You deserve it!!!”  And that got me thinking about what has changed.

When Jim was struggling for those last breaths before the ventilator, I told him I would be his breath. That has taken on new meaning for me now as I realize I am living for both of us now. He would not want me to sit and mope. He would want me to seize the day and make the most out of every moment. He would give anything to have a few more days, so I owe it to him, and to me, to make the most out of my time, whether it's just one more day or another thirty years. And so, I choose life.

My encore career is that of an educator. I was teaching 5th grade when Jim was diagnosed and I took some time off when he died. I made the decision to go back and finish the school year. I felt the kids needed a lesson in resilience and I needed some structure during those numbing months. The next year I returned to my classroom and every day was a struggle. During my first career in hi-tech, if I was having a bad day I could stay home or at least just shut the door to my office, not answer the phone. But with 30 little darlings expecting me to be on, I could not easily not show up. Somehow I got through the year, but decided to take this year off. Jim and I worked hard to save for our future and his death brought about an urgency to live life to its fullest.

Unthinking friends say, “how lucky” I am to be able to take a leave from work. They don’t understand I would give it all up in a heartbeat to have Jim back. I would work every day for the rest of my life. But he wouldn’t want that, and doing so would not bring him back. It’s not luck, it was hard work and we made sacrifices all along the way.

In that first year I barely wanted to leave the house. And I still find it difficult, but know it’s time “to get busy living or get busy dying.” (Andy Dufresne, The Shawshank Redemption) Many of my adventures are a tribute to Jim, a trip to Yosemite in his sports car, travelling to the Midwest for his sister’s 50th birthday. But I am, finally, finding joy in my new life. I am doing my best to honor Jim the best way I can, by living life abundantly and with gratitude and grace. We all should be living life to the fullest. We all deserve it!