As you are reading this, the gentleman who
purchased the El Camino is getting ready to come haul it away. That means four minus four equals zero. He’s the only
one of the four or five interested parties that made me an offer. It was less
than I was asking, but the important thing here is that it’s gone.
Besides,
both AJ and I liked this man, or to quote AJ’s text, “I like Bob. He is an El
Burrito guy. He’ll love & cherish that POS.”
Above I said the important thing is that it’s
gone. If that’s really true, why do I feel so sad? Why do my eyes fill with tears
at the idea my driveway will be empty, except for my Rav4, for the first time
in almost 50 years? Why do I feel as though I’m in front of a huge blackboard
and am slowly erasing John, his memories and all his belongings?
Is
this what will happen when I’m gone? Will all the things I cherish and hold
dear be erased and sent on to other people who will appreciate them? I don’t
know. I just know that as I keep moving forward, I keep getting blindsided by
feelings of loss, dismay, fear, and loneliness. Why does it keep hurting? Why
can’t I reach the point where an accomplishment like selling El Burrito brings
me more joy than pain? I don’t know. Does anyone?