The Untethering

I have a planned post for this week, and it was tied to last week's submittal, but this week my uncle - with whom I was quite close - passed on.   So I will resume next week with the other offering, but for today, I wanted to share with my readers a story. 

In 1995, my father bought me my first automobile.  It was a 1994 Jeep Grand Cherokee - it was a gift to me for my high school graduation. I was young and carefree, and I loved to ride in that Jeep with the windows down and the heater on full capacity in the dead cold of winter, listening to classic 80s punk on the custom stereo system.  I loved that Jeep.   It will always have a very special place in my memory, because I feel like I grew up in it. 

I drove across the continental US in it twice - spending early morning hours in the Badlands of South Dakota, only to trek then over to Wyoming and beyond. One year, during college, my friends and Ieven took a trip to Anchorage, Alaska in it.  We drove straight all the way from Virginia - took days of driving, and we were exhausted! But the memories we made lingered in that Jeep long after our friendships had turned to casual, occasional phone calls and Christmas cards.    

I kept it for years.  In fact, I only got rid of it in 2017, believe it or not.   It had logged over 400,000 miles, and by the time I got rid of it, it was at the very end of its long life.   I'll admit I was attached to it, though, because it was the last piece of my dad that I kept - he passed in 2009.   

When the buyer came to pick it up (I actually sold it for scrap), it felt surreal to me.  I sat in the same seat I'd sat in when I drove to my father's memorial service. I sat in the same seat where I'd driven with him on the very first day I owned it; the day after he bought it for me.    My eyes burned with tears; it felt like I was giving away the memories of my youth.  But I was tethered to that Jeep by those memories - and it was natural to want to keep it, even when I knew the best thing to do was to let it go.   

But I'm not that Jeep. I never was. I drove it. I made memories in it; lived life in it.  But it was never me. I was the driver; responsible for maneuvering it through traffic and around obstacles, keeping it fueled properly. But I was never more than the driver.   And the time came for me to release that Jeep, and learn to drive something else. 

This is only a story about an automobile.   It's a true story, but a story nonetheless.   

I shared it because my uncle has passed; he is now untethered from his body: no longer bound by its limitations and restrictions.   He is no longer driving that machine.   He has moved on.  For those of you who have had to say goodbye to someone you love: grief is a gift that serves to remind you of that great love.   It has a sharp edge, to be sure, but it is a gfit nevertheless.   Remember that your love is not gone, only untethered.   Keep their memories close, and when you cut yourself on that sharp blade of grief, remember that the dark always seems the deepest just right before the dawn.

One day soon enough, you will become untethered, too, and your flight may lead you to them once more.