On Monday, July 25, after I received the call from Mom about the accident, I dropped my lunch companion off at her house and headed for the highway. Of course, the “low tire pressure” light flashed on my Fusion console. I briefly considered driving on to Columbia with the light on but I decided to stop at the Casey’s to fill up the low tire. The only problem was that I didn’t know where the air pump was located at the Casey’s on 151st Street. A quick cruise through the parking lot did not offer any signs to help me out in my search. On the second pass through the parking lot I found the pump. I topped off the offending tire and hit the highway.
The only reason this is of note is because this tire and I have been on an ongoing battle of wills with the correct pressure levels. I’ve had the tire checked twice and both times I was assured that all was well with the tire. On this day I did not need that tire to be a problem. I’m writing this post on Sunday night, two weeks after the accident, and my low tire pressure light came on again. I’d completely forgotten about the tire and the light I know that life go
es on after the death of a loved one but I’m not ready for this new normal. Usually I call my Dad about car stuff. He was the kind of guy who “knew a guy” who could fix my cars. Or you could describe the symptoms of the problem and he could diagnose the solution with just a phone call. I remember well the time I called him about a problem with my minivan. I described the problem Dad diagnosed it as a malfunction in the starter and told me where to take, who to ask for and about how much it should cost.
Now I’ll take my car to the shop and get my tire fixed without his input. I probably have not needed his input on car stuff for a long time. The routine of calling him and talking about car stuff with Dad will not happen again. Thank you, Dad, for all you have taught me about cars, life and love.
into the house were surreal. Under a table by my Dad’s chair sat his SAS shoes which he wore almost every day. Those shoes were the tipping point for me in tears. The tears that had been saved up from the previous day were not to be denied today. There’s no handbook for this stuff. We just make it up as we go along. I left the shoes because I couldn’t bear to think of Dad not returning to those ugly, orthopedic shoes. Fast forward a couple of hours later and the second thing my mother does is move the shoes into the bedroom. She can’t stand to look at the shoes sitting in the living room and I can’t stand the idea that the owner of the shoes will not return.
has been shaking up my world. One of the most helpful statements I have been using in these days is, “You cannot walk the second journey with first journey tools. You need a whole new tool kit.” I believe we are in a time of shifting paradigms and we do not yet have the tools we need for this new journey and path we are on. In times of fear I want to make a blanket fort and hide out with a book and a cup of tea. Yet we live in a time where hiding out will not change a thing and could actually makes things worse.
Shelly Speaks Up 