Eighty nine cents in the ashtray....
Dog Tags hanging from the rearview mirror....
People's got their ways of coping.
I've got mine....
I burn up every back road in this town.
I find a field and tear it up, till all the pain's a cloud of dust.
Yes, sometimes I drive your truck. ~ I Drive Your Truck
Wow.
Song of the year 2013, CMA Awards.
Taken from a true story - a son KIA in Afghanistan.
The truck he left behind.
The family who drives it.
Lyrics hit home to heartbroken families who have had to say good bye too soon-
My many friends who have their children's vehicles - I know.
We understand.
Remembering the day Caleb's belongings were delivered....
The back doors of the Mayflower swung open.
The first thing I saw was Caleb's vehicle.
The driver backed it down the ramp slowly, onto our driveway.
My son's Trail Blazer....
His name was written on a sheet of white paper, left on the dashboard.
The driver handed me the keys.
Caleb's name was written on a tag attached to the key ring.
This was it.
Reality.
My son wasn't driving it - ever again.
That morning I stood in the driveway and sobbed.
He found this SUV online in a dealership in Parker.
I was going to meet with my writer friends in Parker the next day, so we went together.
I dropped him off at the dealership, and he bought it.
It took him to California.
It was his other car...he really loved driving his Harley.
It's hard to put into words all I was feeling that day.
Flashbacks to when he first started driving.
How he teased me about putting a hole in the floor where I was stepping on invisible brakes.
Memories of when he left for Iraq and how I didn't want anyone to move his vehicle - a blue Dodge Dakota.
It needed to stay where he parked it.
I cried when my husband drove it.
It needed to stay where it was.
It didn't have to make sense.
It was how I felt.
Back to the Trail Blazer, and its' last journey home in a moving van.
It had been parked in a compound on base as I understand, for months -
waiting to make its' journey home.
It was the last thing to go into the Mayflower.
I ran my hand over the black exterior.
My son's ride.
Miles and adventures.
Now,
Caleb's vehicle wasn't going anywhere with him behind the wheel.
Hard to swallow.
His vehicle sat in the driveway for a while.
I didn't want it moved.
I couldn't stand the thought of it going anywhere.
Till one day... it needed to be started since the weather had been so cold.
It started right up.
I turned the radio on.
Of course, it was set for California stations, not Colorado.
But, it was on my favorite station.
I thought - that was so Caleb.
I whispered, 'Thank you,' as tears streamed down my face.
It was a small thing, but it touched my heart.
There are times when I drive his vehicle, and I feel so close to Caleb.
Other times it is too hard to think about driving it.
It is parked in the driveway.
Receipts remain where they were.
Keys stay in the console. I don't know what they're for, but it's ok.
The workout bar is in the back.
The horseshoe stays where it was.
It's just a vehicle.
I realize that.
But, it's a part of Caleb's life.
It helps me to see it, to clean it, to drive it.
It has a distinct smell that has not left.
A clean, fresh scent.
Like a new car.
Sometimes I sit in the driver's seat.
I just sit.
I soak up the thought of Caleb sitting there, his hands on the steering wheel,
jamming to the music, windows down, trucking down the freeway - free as the breeze.
Living his life.
It's how it should be.
Only it's not how it is.
Having his vehicle helps....
There are some things that just do.
It may or may not make sense.
It's just how it is.
I'm ok with that.
In case you didn't hear the song, I Drive Your Truck, here it is.
Some of you know exactly how it feels.
Some of you don't, and that's ok.
