Thursday, August 16, 2012

Cleaning Grandpa's Car

A year and a half ago we inherited a 1999 high-end Acura with leather seats and 60K from Adam's then 94 year-old Grandpa, Vincent Watson. Right after Christmas of 2010 he received a diagnosis that he had congestive heart failure--he could go at any time and the doctor gently told him that it would be advisable to stop driving because he certainly did not want to take anyone out with him. As a mother who drives with two little kids in the car, I was relieved by this news. Grandpa, amid his grief over losing this independence, generously offered us his car. We got the Acura and named it "Vinny" after Grandpa but with a Brooklyn twist.

Vinny smelled like old man. Everytime we got inside the car, Alexandra would exclaim, "Vinny stinks!" Soon that old man smell would be mashed together with the smell of copious amounts of kid puke after a weekend odyssey to North Carolina for my cousin's wedding. Then Vinny really stank. Last summer, while in North Carolina, I cleaned Vinny for hours. While cleaning, I found so many strange little relics of Grandpa and I realized that as much as the contents of a woman's purse might define her, the contents of a man's car define him.

When cleaning Vinny again this summer in NC, I was reminded of these relics. Here's what I found last summer and felt compelled to write about this summer:

1. Grandpa spent his days--right up until he gave us Vinny--making calls on the sick and those stuck in their homes due to old age. A retired Methodist minister, Grandpa's desire to service his community was deep. He would drive towns away to visit folks in hospitals, at home, or to attend funerals. In the center console of the car, I found a worn index card with a list of names, written by Grandpa's squiggly hand in faint red pen. It reads: 4/24: Barb Hentz, Howard Bradley, Elsie Lyons, Phyllis Taylor, Betty Dorman, Archers, Mur. Hass Church? Muriel Chard? (question marks his) and on the flip side another date with more names. No doubt, these were individuals whom Grandpa visited during his rounds. Rounds made by a man in his 90's who still felt called to be of service to others less healthy, less able, less mobile than him.When I think of Grandpa, I think of this need of his to be of service to others.

2. Also tucked in the console was an obituary, cut from the newspaper--a slim column that reads off the life of on Francis Edward Morse, who died at the age of 103 in 2002. Mr. Morse had been born in 1898! What an amazing century to have lived through.We got the car in January of 2011, so this obit was pretty old. I am not sure how Grandpa knew this man, but I do know--from talking to Adam's grandparents and my last living grandparent, my 90 year old grandma--that when you make it to your 90's, not many others do. Your friends and family die, and you continue to live. A strange blessing and a very intense way to end your life.

3. The most curious item from the car was Grandpa's Topdog/Underdog ticket from a matinee viewing at the Hartford Stage. Now this just seemed to illustrate Grandma and Grandpa Watson perfectly. These two attended the March on Washington, shook Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s hand, and were staunch advocates of the Civil Rights Movement. They currently attend a Methodist church in Bloomfield, CT mostly populated by Jamaicans. The fact that they would choose to go see a play like Topdog/Underdog--a play about race relations in our country--isn't surprising. I hope to be as curious, involved, and seeking as they are if I make it to my 90's.

These three relics, along with Grandpa's hairbrush, are tucked in the glove box of Vinny, our Acura. They are our talisman, and I do derive a strange comfort from having them there. They are joined by motion sickness bracelets for Alexandra, a box of Hello Kitty bandaids, a clam shell from a mother's day beach trip, and other artifacts of our little family. The family line grows and shifts, even in our glove compartment of our car.

Grandpa is now 96 1/2, but each year in one's 90's is like 10 years of life from 0-60. Grandma (who is 91 and still drives a candy apple read, two-door Honda) and Grandpa are still living independently, together, gardening and reading, but aging very quickly. We treasure our times with them because we all recognize that each visit could be the last. We tell them we love them a lot. And we do. Deeply.

And Grandpa, who is still alive a year and a half after giving us his car, tells us every time we see him that he wants his car back. He is only somewhat joking, and we cautiously hide the keys each visit, just in case he decides to go for one last joyride in the last car he owned.

2 comments:

  1. love love love this, lori! xoxo, sara

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  2. What a touching piece! I often wonder what people will be able to understand about my life from things I leave behind. I hope Dan and I are like Grandma and Grandpa Watson, still living the good life, when we are old and gray.

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