Farewells and Hellos

A couple of weeks ago, I watched as my car was towed away. I had just signed it over as a donation to Minnesota Public Radio.

This car was originally my dad's. He died in October 2014, less than a year after buying the car new, and in December of 2014, my mom gave the Escape to me. As a single parent, a nearly new SUV without car payments was a huge gift in my life. My son and I had been on a couple of family road trips with my parents in that car, so it already held fond memories for us. Eventually, this was the car in which my son learned to drive and took his driver's test. It is the car in which he and I took a three-day road trip to take him to college, with almost everything he owned packed into the back seat and cargo space.

The car also had some "Dad special" customizations: a clip on the dashboard for toll tickets; another to hold a small fabric trash bin; a small piece of yellow electrical tape on the edge of the hood to show where the hood release is. He did those things for himself, but after his death, they became ways that I felt cared for in his absence. I will miss them, though I am grateful for the new car that has replaced this one after a decade.

One of the reasons I donated the car to MPR is that my dad was a huge fan of public radio. He would feel as good about this donation as I do.

After the car was gone, I texted my wife and told her I was having more feelings about letting go of the car than I had expected to. She empathized, and I took a few deep breaths and went on with my day.

A few days after watching the car leave, after getting home from a long day at the church where I am the minister, I was sorting through some mail that had piled up over several days. (Okay, maybe a week.) As usual, it was mostly junk mail, but one piece in particular caught my attention: a subscription offer from Wooden Boat Magazine.

I have never even ridden in, let alone owned or built, a wooden boat. Nor, to be honest, do I have any desire to do either of those things.

But Dad did. And he was a Wooden Boat Magazine subscriber.

This offer came in my name, to my address, with no connection to my dad, who died over a decade ago. It had to be coincidence…didn’t it?

I texted my mom about the subscription offer. She confirmed that Dad had been a subscriber, and we agreed that it was unlikely this offer was in any way connected to him.

But she texted me one more thing:

“Dad says hi.”

Just as the modifications Dad made to the Ford felt like ways he took care of me for the decade I drove that car, ways his love was still tangible even in his absence, this piece of junk mail felt like a response to my sadness at letting go of the car.

Theologically, I don’t literally believe that Dad caused that magazine offer to arrive in my mailbox. What did cause it will always be a mystery, and that’s just fine. What matters is that when I was feeling sad about letting go of one thing that connected me to him, I was reminded that there are many other ways he is and will continue to be present in my life. Some of them are predictable, and some will come as surprises. I welcome them all.

Hi, Dad, and thanks. I love you.