July 3rd, 2011- The Void is Created
July 3rd, 2011. The day before Independence Day. 15 days before my 16th birthday. The day my dad died.
Ever since I can remember, my dad always was working on some kind of car. Whether it was when he owned the auto shop, All Four Tires, or at home messing around with one of the old junkyard cars he picked up, he was always doing something. Even looking back at photo albums of him growing up, he was always near a car. I couldn't name every car he owned while I was growing up, but there are a few that I remember, and some that I could never forget.
I don't remember when my dad built his Chevette, but I do remember how proud he was of it. That car was his pride and joy for years and years. Every Fourth of July weekend he would drive to Hillman, MI for the Hillman Street Drags. It was just a little local street the town closed down and turn it into a single 1/4 mile drag race track. Most years he won something, but if not a trophy, he won some lady's heart. My whole family and a lot of Dad's friends would pack up and go for the day. Even though my sister and I were young, we always had a great time cheering all the racers on, especially Dad. Slowly, he stopped driving the car and didn't have time to go to the races. So he decided to trade his beloved little racecar for some house trailers (he always had crazy ideas, ha). He bought some other cars, sold some cars and always just had a distant, happy memory of his old Chevette.
Years and years went by, when one day my brother, Jamie told my dad that he found his old pride and joy. Some guy was going to sell it, and Jamie felt like he should buy it back since Dad was the one that built it. Instead of Jamie buying it, Dad thought it was a good idea to buy it instead (like I said, crazy).
The Chevette was still in great condition, almost exactly how he last saw it. He tweaked a few things around in the motor, and decided he'd enter back into the street drags just like old times. To practice for the races, he would drive up and down our road, over and over, faster and faster. The Amish that surrounded us all knew who Todd was, and all about his cars. One day when he was practicing, he decided to take the wheelie bars off of the back. It'd help him go faster, but wouldn't keep his as stable. When we drove down the road to practice, when he launched the car, we slid sideways instead of going totally straight. He said he should put the bars back on, but said he would be okay without. Also, I remember my dad telling me and my sister that one of his friends had stopped by to show him a video of a smaller car racing without their wheelie bars and they crashed. He was trying to tell dad that his car was also too light but my dad said it was fine.
The day of the races, July 3rd, 2011. My dad picked me up from my mom's house on his way up to Hillman. As we were driving, he told me about this dream he had been having for the past week. "Every night, I dream that I'm in the Chevette, and I drive into a ditch and start rolling... and then I wake up. I don't know if it means something." I told him that it was going to be okay and he would be fine. My dad would always have gut feelings about tons of things, his intuition was usually pretty great. We continued on and came across a turtle crossing the road. We were hauling the car with an old 70's Dodge pickup, so we couldn't really stop to help him cross the road. As we passed him, my dad started saying how he never dodges for animals, except turtles because "when you hit their shell, they have that extra split second of pain." He didn't want to do that to them. I never really heard my dad talk about something like that before, and how he was talking the whole time was just, different. It didn't feel different at the time, but looking back now, I can see it. I wish someone else had been there for that car ride, just to witness the conversations because it feels unbelievable.
My older sister, Haley, and our brother and his family all met us up in Hillman. We got our tent area set up right by the starting line, cooking up hotdogs and eating snacks, enjoying the day. The races got started around noon. The rumble of the engines, smell of the burning rubber, and the screaming spectators was everything I remembered, and more.
The announcer excitedly announced my dad's name, car information, and mentioned that he hasn't been to these races in years. The whole family jumped up and started cheering him on. "3...2...1...Beeeep" and he was off into a cloud of smoke and asphalt dust. "6.6 seconds!! 118 miles per hour!! Fastest time yet!" We all went hysterical, "Wooo! Go Dad!!!" But then silence took over for a millisecond, and I heard over the P.A. "Paramedics. Paramedics needed now." And I ran. Everyone started running towards the end of the track but the cops were blocking most of us. Some random people were riding their bikes past which made me so angry. Why were dumbass teenage boys allowed to bend the rules to go see MY dad, but I couldn't even get within 1000 feet of him?
The volunteer cop let us know that the ambulance was transporting him to the nearest hospital, 15 minutes away. My sister drove our grandma and I to the hospital, where we met the rest of the family. They took us into a private family waiting room, to hear back from the doctor. He came in and told us that both of his arms were broken (they both had metal plates in from when he broke them before, too), and he had some broken ribs. While we played the waiting game, my sister and I called our mom to let her know what was going on. Even though my dad and her had been divorced for like 14 years, they were still friends. As soon as we called her with the news of being in the hospital, she left to make the hour drive up.
When we were at the races, we couldn't see the finish line, so we didn't find out what exactly happened for awhile. Eventually we found out that he was going too fast for his light, little car and without the wheelie bars, he lost control easier. He rammed into the ditch, flew up and broke a telephone pole perfectly in half. His car rolled a couple times before finally stopping. He was wearing a helmet and was all strapped in. But apparently that wasn't enough.
The doctor came in once more and said that he found bleeding in my dad's brain, and he was sorry, but my dad wouldn't make it. We all had to go in to say our goodbyes. I was the first to walk into the curtained off room to see him, and all I remember is a blur of bruising and someone who was supposed to look like my dad. Like a bad wax figure. I instantly turned around and started blocking my sisters eyes and begged her not to look. I ran out and tried not to throw up from anxiety. I walked out of the hospital, shaking and lightheaded. The fresh air was trying its best to help, but not even laying in the grass allowed me to breathe. I called my best friend Sara to tell her the news, she and my dad were besties too. Her and her mom left their family reunion to drive to the hospital to be with me for just 5 minutes and give me a hug. I don't even know a timeline for the day, I don't think. I just know that when my mom drove me home from the hospital, it was late afternoon. I don't even remember the drive, she said I passed out almost instantly.
We got home, and I saw I had some texts from different friends giving their condolences. It all helped, but I wasn't really accepting what happened. One friend texted to say I was welcome to come over and relax if I wanted to. So, I did. While I was there, my dad's coworker called my phone, "How's my buddy doing?!" And I had to tell him, and I had to listen to him try not to cry, and I was trying to hold back my tears so he didn't hear me be weak. I cried a couple more times that night, while this basically random guy cuddled me and said things that I wanted to hear. I was trying to fill this void, try to feel some kind of feeling besides emptiness. And that night, I lost my virginity. (And this is the first that any of my family will see this. Yikes.)
A few days later was my dad's funeral. Even at that, I had to try force myself to cry. I remember trying to crumple my face up and squint my eyes, because people that I didn't even know were crying over my dad. So surely, I should've been just a giant mess of tears, right? Well, it wasn't like that. I was numb, just going through the motions. Seeing my mom and my sister cry, even my older brother and grandma were crying often in the days and weeks after. I didn't. I just pushed it away and moved on. Even today when people find out that I lost my dad at such a young age, my response is, "Oh, it happens. Just part of life." 2 weeks ago my therapist told me that I never dealt with my dad's death, which I always kind of knew. I just replaced the sorrow with this different feeling, and just pretended that it never bothered me. But it does bother me.
I always have this, "What if?" in my mind. "What if my dad listened to his recurring dream and chose not to race? What if I had told him that I didn't want him to race? What if he had kept the wheelie bars on his car?" But asking that doesn't change anything. I need to face my feelings and not push them away and go numb. And that's the difficult part now.
This is the main issue that I'm working on in counseling, so I'm sure this will be continued as I work through everything...
Ever since I can remember, my dad always was working on some kind of car. Whether it was when he owned the auto shop, All Four Tires, or at home messing around with one of the old junkyard cars he picked up, he was always doing something. Even looking back at photo albums of him growing up, he was always near a car. I couldn't name every car he owned while I was growing up, but there are a few that I remember, and some that I could never forget.
I don't remember when my dad built his Chevette, but I do remember how proud he was of it. That car was his pride and joy for years and years. Every Fourth of July weekend he would drive to Hillman, MI for the Hillman Street Drags. It was just a little local street the town closed down and turn it into a single 1/4 mile drag race track. Most years he won something, but if not a trophy, he won some lady's heart. My whole family and a lot of Dad's friends would pack up and go for the day. Even though my sister and I were young, we always had a great time cheering all the racers on, especially Dad. Slowly, he stopped driving the car and didn't have time to go to the races. So he decided to trade his beloved little racecar for some house trailers (he always had crazy ideas, ha). He bought some other cars, sold some cars and always just had a distant, happy memory of his old Chevette.
Years and years went by, when one day my brother, Jamie told my dad that he found his old pride and joy. Some guy was going to sell it, and Jamie felt like he should buy it back since Dad was the one that built it. Instead of Jamie buying it, Dad thought it was a good idea to buy it instead (like I said, crazy).
The Chevette was still in great condition, almost exactly how he last saw it. He tweaked a few things around in the motor, and decided he'd enter back into the street drags just like old times. To practice for the races, he would drive up and down our road, over and over, faster and faster. The Amish that surrounded us all knew who Todd was, and all about his cars. One day when he was practicing, he decided to take the wheelie bars off of the back. It'd help him go faster, but wouldn't keep his as stable. When we drove down the road to practice, when he launched the car, we slid sideways instead of going totally straight. He said he should put the bars back on, but said he would be okay without. Also, I remember my dad telling me and my sister that one of his friends had stopped by to show him a video of a smaller car racing without their wheelie bars and they crashed. He was trying to tell dad that his car was also too light but my dad said it was fine.
The day of the races, July 3rd, 2011. My dad picked me up from my mom's house on his way up to Hillman. As we were driving, he told me about this dream he had been having for the past week. "Every night, I dream that I'm in the Chevette, and I drive into a ditch and start rolling... and then I wake up. I don't know if it means something." I told him that it was going to be okay and he would be fine. My dad would always have gut feelings about tons of things, his intuition was usually pretty great. We continued on and came across a turtle crossing the road. We were hauling the car with an old 70's Dodge pickup, so we couldn't really stop to help him cross the road. As we passed him, my dad started saying how he never dodges for animals, except turtles because "when you hit their shell, they have that extra split second of pain." He didn't want to do that to them. I never really heard my dad talk about something like that before, and how he was talking the whole time was just, different. It didn't feel different at the time, but looking back now, I can see it. I wish someone else had been there for that car ride, just to witness the conversations because it feels unbelievable.
My older sister, Haley, and our brother and his family all met us up in Hillman. We got our tent area set up right by the starting line, cooking up hotdogs and eating snacks, enjoying the day. The races got started around noon. The rumble of the engines, smell of the burning rubber, and the screaming spectators was everything I remembered, and more.
The announcer excitedly announced my dad's name, car information, and mentioned that he hasn't been to these races in years. The whole family jumped up and started cheering him on. "3...2...1...Beeeep" and he was off into a cloud of smoke and asphalt dust. "6.6 seconds!! 118 miles per hour!! Fastest time yet!" We all went hysterical, "Wooo! Go Dad!!!" But then silence took over for a millisecond, and I heard over the P.A. "Paramedics. Paramedics needed now." And I ran. Everyone started running towards the end of the track but the cops were blocking most of us. Some random people were riding their bikes past which made me so angry. Why were dumbass teenage boys allowed to bend the rules to go see MY dad, but I couldn't even get within 1000 feet of him?
The volunteer cop let us know that the ambulance was transporting him to the nearest hospital, 15 minutes away. My sister drove our grandma and I to the hospital, where we met the rest of the family. They took us into a private family waiting room, to hear back from the doctor. He came in and told us that both of his arms were broken (they both had metal plates in from when he broke them before, too), and he had some broken ribs. While we played the waiting game, my sister and I called our mom to let her know what was going on. Even though my dad and her had been divorced for like 14 years, they were still friends. As soon as we called her with the news of being in the hospital, she left to make the hour drive up.
When we were at the races, we couldn't see the finish line, so we didn't find out what exactly happened for awhile. Eventually we found out that he was going too fast for his light, little car and without the wheelie bars, he lost control easier. He rammed into the ditch, flew up and broke a telephone pole perfectly in half. His car rolled a couple times before finally stopping. He was wearing a helmet and was all strapped in. But apparently that wasn't enough.
The doctor came in once more and said that he found bleeding in my dad's brain, and he was sorry, but my dad wouldn't make it. We all had to go in to say our goodbyes. I was the first to walk into the curtained off room to see him, and all I remember is a blur of bruising and someone who was supposed to look like my dad. Like a bad wax figure. I instantly turned around and started blocking my sisters eyes and begged her not to look. I ran out and tried not to throw up from anxiety. I walked out of the hospital, shaking and lightheaded. The fresh air was trying its best to help, but not even laying in the grass allowed me to breathe. I called my best friend Sara to tell her the news, she and my dad were besties too. Her and her mom left their family reunion to drive to the hospital to be with me for just 5 minutes and give me a hug. I don't even know a timeline for the day, I don't think. I just know that when my mom drove me home from the hospital, it was late afternoon. I don't even remember the drive, she said I passed out almost instantly.
We got home, and I saw I had some texts from different friends giving their condolences. It all helped, but I wasn't really accepting what happened. One friend texted to say I was welcome to come over and relax if I wanted to. So, I did. While I was there, my dad's coworker called my phone, "How's my buddy doing?!" And I had to tell him, and I had to listen to him try not to cry, and I was trying to hold back my tears so he didn't hear me be weak. I cried a couple more times that night, while this basically random guy cuddled me and said things that I wanted to hear. I was trying to fill this void, try to feel some kind of feeling besides emptiness. And that night, I lost my virginity. (And this is the first that any of my family will see this. Yikes.)
A few days later was my dad's funeral. Even at that, I had to try force myself to cry. I remember trying to crumple my face up and squint my eyes, because people that I didn't even know were crying over my dad. So surely, I should've been just a giant mess of tears, right? Well, it wasn't like that. I was numb, just going through the motions. Seeing my mom and my sister cry, even my older brother and grandma were crying often in the days and weeks after. I didn't. I just pushed it away and moved on. Even today when people find out that I lost my dad at such a young age, my response is, "Oh, it happens. Just part of life." 2 weeks ago my therapist told me that I never dealt with my dad's death, which I always kind of knew. I just replaced the sorrow with this different feeling, and just pretended that it never bothered me. But it does bother me.
I always have this, "What if?" in my mind. "What if my dad listened to his recurring dream and chose not to race? What if I had told him that I didn't want him to race? What if he had kept the wheelie bars on his car?" But asking that doesn't change anything. I need to face my feelings and not push them away and go numb. And that's the difficult part now.
This is the main issue that I'm working on in counseling, so I'm sure this will be continued as I work through everything...
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