what nobody tells you
My dad’s black Chevy Tahoe which is now well over 10 years old is something that really holds a lot of weight in my heart. I know that sounds kind of silly but it’s the truck he drove me and my friends around in when I was in high school. It’s the truck he chauffeured me and my sister to countless cheer practices, ballet school, and soccer games in. It’s the truck that moved me and my sister in and out of college. It’s the truck we would take to get ice cream with in the summer. I’ve sat with him in countless car rides where he would just talk to me about life. It’s really where me and him spent a lot of our time together.
My dad took great care of this truck but that’s because he was so proud to have it. But before he passed, he kept putting off getting a new truck even though he had to bring it in a few times to get work done on it. Today, as I hopped into his truck to start it up, I took it all in as it still smelled like him. But when I put the key into the ignition (no push to start here) it wouldn’t turn on. I tried a few times but didn’t want to mess around with it too much. I went inside and told my mom that dad’s truck wouldn’t start and all of a sudden, I started to cry.
I cried at the thought of giving away something that is just so my father. It has his Semper Fi license plate and stickers and it just holds so many memories. The thought of possibly having to let go of this truck made my heart sink as it felt like we would be getting rid of a part of him. Luckily it was a quarantine miracle that All-State was able to come and jump start his truck and get it running within just a few minutes.
I got myself together as I then felt stupid crying over a car not starting up. But to me it was much more than that. It’s very difficult even as the 6-month mark of my dad’s passing is approaching. I guess because I never imagined him getting sick so quickly and having minimal time to process everything that sometimes it’s difficult to think that he is even gone.
This experience today reminded me of why I wanted to start this blog. So, it could be a place where kids or young adults like me can relate to losing a first responder parent. I know I am not the only one out there who has lost a parent at a young age nonetheless lost a parent from a sickness due to 9/11. There is no guide on how to process all of these emotions and nobody tells you that it will actually get a lot harder before it will get easier.
Nobody tells you that you’ll miss your parent at the most random times of the day. Nobody tells you how hard a holiday will be without their presence there. Nobody can prepare you for how to feel or what to feel. At the end of the day I look back and think of the beautiful life my dad had. It’s something that pulls me back in and makes me realize that not everyone got to have a dad like mine. Some never even get to meet their dad and mine was extra special.
He’s the only guy I know that would jump 10,000 feet out of a plane with a bad back or take their daughter for their first tattoo. He taught me how to ride a bike and practiced driving with me every day until I got my license. He never knew how to cook but he always made sure that I had my pop tart or my cereal every day before school. People like my dad are rare – his heart was special because he lived to serve. He served his country and served the best fire department in the whole world.
To me when I think of my dad, I will always picture him pulling up with his black Chevy Tahoe no matter the time of day.
here’s to the countless hours spent in the Tahoe and the beautiful memories that were made in it…
