THE EMPTY SPACE IN THE GARAGE – Journey of Loss, Love, and Letting Go By Pennie Hunt

It was time for its yearly check-up and oil change. I had done this every year for almost 17 years. After the check-up, I would wash it, vacuum it, and park it back in the garage.

It was a precious possession filled with memories of my son. After leaving it at the car shop, I stood in my garage looking at the empty space and I held my breath. I suddenly realized that for all these years as long as the truck was in my garage somewhere in my heart I thought my son would come back to drive it.
That is why I kept it.

The last time I saw my son, we were at a gas station, and I paid for his tank of gas. When I walked to my car I turned and looked at his smiling face as he sat in that truck waving goodbye to me. Every time I walked into the garage I could see him sitting in that truck waving goodbye.
That is why I kept it.

I cried just thinking about letting go of the truck, but it was time. I knew it would be painful. I knew I couldn’t handle prospective buyers coming to my home to look at it. I knew my heart would break if I saw a stranger driving it around town.

I called my brother and asked if he would come and get it. I wanted him to take it to his community and sell it. I made it clear – I didn’t want to know any details. I didn’t want to know the price. I didn’t want to see a stranger drive it away.

When my brother and sister-in-law arrived, I heard whispered conversations between my brother and my husband discussing a sale price and information about the truck. My husband cleaned it, detailed the inside, and polished it to look as close to new as a 1997 truck could.

The night before my brother and his wife left, they posted the truck for sale on social media sites. Early the next morning offers were coming in.

​I took the truck for one last drive. I thought of all the times I had driven it in the past 17 years. I thought of the day I surprised my son with it and how he jumped up and down and danced around it.

As I drove, I talked to him. I asked my son to get his uncle and this truck home safely. And I asked him to find the perfect person to buy the truck. I cried and talked to him and cried more. The truck was where I always talked to my son after he passed away. That is why I kept it.

I stood in the driveway videoing my brother drive the truck away. My sister-in-law was in their car looking protective as she followed him. When I turned to see the empty space in the garage, I cried deeper than I had since the day my son passed. That empty space took up a lot of room in my heart.

Halfway home, my brother called. He was sure the truck was already sold. An excited young man had called him and said he had a truck just like it when he was younger and sold it when he joined the military. He regretted that decision and wanted this truck. The man planned to meet my brother when he arrived home and would have the cash in hand to pay for the truck.

A few hours later my brother called with the rest of the story. The young man showed up with the cash. When he saw the truck he jumped up and down and danced around it- just like my son had when I gave it to him. He kept saying it was destiny that he saw the ad for the truck that morning.

My brother said,
“Pennie, you tell me how these kinds of mysterious woo-woo things happen to you all the time, but now I am believing this one.”
There were too many coincidences that happened for this not to be destiny. And when I saw a photo of the man who bought the truck, he looked a lot like my son.

The new owner and I have had a few phone conversations. The first time he called the truck the “Green Machine” I reached for my heart. That is what my husband always called it. There was no accident that this man bought the truck- he was supposed to have it. The timing of my decision to sell it, my deep insistence that my brother take it, and the list of magical similarities between my son and this new owner could not have accidentally happened.

I believe my son maneuvered all of it and found the perfect owner just like I asked him to. And my son knew the new owner would become a new friend. I believe I had to wait all these years to sell it for this to happen.

That is why I kept it.
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                                                  Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                                Letting go is a process. Healing takes time.
                                                    Love always remains.
                                              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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​YOUR TURN...        
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