They come in so many different shapes and sizes, you could never see them all. I love the way that people take an automobile and make it as unique as themselves. I love driving. I love the feel of the car under and around me. I love the sound of the engine as you accelerate and the noise of a turbo spooling up. Each car has its own unique and individual sounds, and the best ones can be recognized in an instant.
When I met my hubs, and found out that he was a "car guy", I was elated. I grew up with four brothers, but even though they all have an appreciation for cool cars, they weren't what I would call "car guys". I love that Dan (my hubs) is into cars. And not only does he love them, but he knows damn near EVERYTHING about them. Seriously, it's kinda freaky. But I love it. I love that I can ask him questions and he can answer them. I love watching him work on cars and learning new things. I love the passion and excitement in his voice when he talks about cars and car parts. It's adorable. And contagious. I find myself getting giddy over carbon fiber and blow off valves.
Dan comes from a long line of car guys. His dad, uncles, grandfather, etc. all have this love of vehicles. So, it was no surprise when our son, Zachary, started exhibiting all the usual signs of engine fever. It was in his blood. As a child, he was always in and around fast cars, he probably spent as much time in a garage as a playground. And he loved it. When he got his first car, he couldn't wait to start changing parts and "making it better". So, of course between him & his Dad, they did. Some of my favorite family memories with my husband and son involve cars. From hanging out together in the garage, to car shows, race tracks and more. We were a self proclaimed car family. Team Finn. That was us. We watched car videos together, and bought each other car parts for birthdays and Christmas. On any given day, one or all of us was wearing clothing with our favorite car company logo emblazoned on it. Bickering over our favorite cars or discussing parts was dinner conversation for us.
Now part of being into cars is understanding all the risks and dangers involved with driving. Especially when driving fast or recklessly. My husband has always been an amazing driver. It's like he has a sixth sense when it comes to cars. He is so in touch with his car, it's like an extension of his body. I am continually impressed by what I have seen him do in a driver's seat. It's awe inspiring. And sexy as hell. But he is also VERY careful to explain to others that he has years of experience doing what he does. So when our son started driving, he had it drilled into his head on a regular basis to NOT do these things. And for the most part, he listened. At least as much as any teenager with oil in his blood and a genetic case of engine fever is bound to listen. He had a healthy respect for the power and dangers that come with the territory. On August 3rd, 2012, our son, Zachary was involved in a roll over car accident. He wasn't drinking or on drugs, and he wasn't driving carelessly. It was just a freak accident. On August 4th, he passed away due to his injuries. He had just gotten a new car less than a week earlier. A Subaru, like his Dad. We were becoming a Subaru family, and he was so excited to show it off to his friends. A few days before, he and his Dad had put a brand new stereo in it and were making plans for all the things they were going to do to the car.
He never got the chance to do any of it. At 18 years old, our son died doing something he loved. Driving. This is my struggle. For all the love I have of cars, and all the joy they have brought me and my family, I now find them in my nightmares. I am haunted by the images of my son's last moments and the twisted metal wreckage that brought them to pass. Although logically, I know the car was not responsible for his death, I cannot help but think that maybe things would or could have been different if he hadn't been behind the wheel. I know that this is a futile battle waging in my mind, because things are NOT different, and no matter how much I wish it so, the past cannot be changed. But I struggle, nonetheless.
Each time my husband gets in his car to go to work, or run an errand, my heart stops beating, and does not resume its normal pace until he returns home safely. I live in constant fear of another knock at the door or panicked phone call telling me my life is forever changed. Again.
I encouraged my husband not to give up his love of cars. To keep finding joy in them, as I know our son would want him to. And I am grateful that he has resumed car projects and I have seen his spark return while behind the wheel of his beloved Subaru. I wish I could say the same. I find myself dreading getting in it. I am OK in our daily drivers. They don't bother me too much. Though I certainly don't find the same simple joy in driving as I once did. But getting into my husbands project car makes me feel sick to my stomach. Maybe it's because that is what we drove to the hospital that fateful day, or maybe it's because I know the raw power and speed that car possesses and now am all too aware of what can happen. I'm honestly not sure. But I do know that I am almost grateful for the winter weather that keeps it tucked safely in the garage. I hope that in time, these feelings will pass, and I too can find the happiness I once found in it. Because I DO love it.
But I still struggle with these mixed feelings about cars. I love them and hate them equally right now. I love hearing my husband get excited about parts and videos, but at the same time, I am struggling with NOT wanting to hear or talk about them because it brings up difficult memories. I hope this is just a temporary feeling, and that in time, I can get over it. But for now, this is just another path the Grief has taken me down, and I have little choice but to follow it...
(My son, Zachary, with his beloved first car. This was one of his senior pictures.)
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