I know this letter is reaching you too late. Ah, but isn’t that just me… a day late and a dollar short. I just wanted you to know that despite our trials, you were the one thing I could always rely on in big bad Worcester. Tough day at work? We could go and leave it all behind. When I needed to retreat back to Vermont and get a grip on sanity, you came. You always came rain or shine, sleet or snow. You never balked, and I never got the chance to say thank you. So… thank you.
I’ll never forget our trip to North Myrtle beach last year. You, Me, Eli, Ethan, Tyler, and lil’ homie Lisa. God you were so beautiful. So sleek. But you didn’t fool me with your cool. I saw the fire behind your eyes. You were as strong-willed as anyone on the team. I remember the way you shined down there in the southern sun. In a different life I think we could have lived happily down south. Just you and I and the sun, cruising with the windows down.
Or, remember our trip up to Vermont? We decided to race the weather and ended up in whiteout conditions. I white knuckled a good 50 miles, but you kept me grounded. You kept me safe. We made it home in one piece thankfully. You were unfazed by the whipping snowdrifts and horizontal flakes. Without you we wouldn’t have made it off I-89.
But… you’re gone now. And I’m sorry.
I suppose the cliche holds true: you don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone. I just wonder if there was anything I could have done differently? In the end I’m sure about this: I’ll never really know. I am sure that there’s now a piece of me missing. A buick-sized piece.
Rest in Peace Lola. You were the best LeSabre a boy could have hoped for. I’ll never forget your spacious seats or generous legroom. You cruised like a boat and helped me solidify my grandpa persona. I make this promise to you, friend: I will dedicate my life to warning others about the dangers of under carriage oxidation. You have my word.