A Tan Dodge Racer with a Camper--who knew they even sold Dodges pretending to be pick-ups? I called it his "grandpa car". Bryan called it his Love Shack on wheels! :0
A White Toyota 4x4 Pick-up-Finally! A vehicle a teen could be proud to drive! His last foreign auto!
A Navy Blue Ford Pick-Up-the first car HE bought! He was a Ford guy.
Finally, A Gunmetal Grey Ford 150, 4-door, Triton Motor, tricked out--now that is a truck a man can enjoy! He did.
My dad brought Bryan's truck to his house last night. I tried to be prepared to drive up to my parent's home and see it in the driveway--but how could I be prepared? I am not ready for any of this stinking lousy stuff. I sat in his truck. I sat in his spot. The cab smelled like him, his fancy men's body spray, jasmine gardenia air freshner, mints, and faint cigarette odor. I never saw him smoke. I touched his coin collection. I looked through his Cds. I didn't recognize the names of most of the artists. There was Metallica. I was never into that. Of course, we both shared a fondness for Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles--so there was that. And Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby Christmas--he didn't listen to it this year.
When I put Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" in the CD and turned it up, I knew I was undone. His ringtone hadn't gone off once since Dad brought his cell phone back from the coroner's--but that was the song he used. I don't know why, he's never been to Alabama. There was lots I didn't know about my brother. "Lord, I'm coming home to you"?
MAKE IT GO AWAY! BRING HIM BACK! TAKE ME HOME! OH GOD!
I can't say or do or think or wish or pray or do absolutely ANYTHING about this awful hurt. So I cried and listened to his song again and sat in his spot in his car and missed him so bad I felt like my insides were going to spill out the gaping hole in my heart.