Thursday, November 3, 2011

Flashback Friday - 100 years of chevrolet

I have been fairly emotional this week and missing my dad a lot. I finally hit me tonight I was watching and listening to a lot of things about the 100th anniversary of Chevrolet. My dad got his first Corvette when I was 12. It is a 1964 red corvette and we both adored that car. From that day forth he always had at least one corvette in the garage - usually 3 :)

The week he got it my mom and sister were out of town and it was summer break and by this point my dad was on disability, and not working. So for about 2 weeks straight I got Corvette Trivia training. 10 years ago I could have told you the difference between a 73 and 74 and what changed. My knowledge is a little dusty but I can still guess within a few years.

My dad's father got a Corvette when he was young as well. Back then the factory was in St. Louis and he went with his father to pick up the car as it came of f the line. I always thought that was a cool story. Then, in the 70's my uncle Bobby {who pasted away before I was born} had one as well. So it is sort of a family tradition. I hope to one day have his Corvette in my garage...just a little piece of him and all of our good times in that car.
These pictures were from our last corvette ride together. Perfect day. It was our Wednesday Date night and he picked me up from work and we headed to Ste. Genevieve and had dinner at the anvil. We had done this a thousand times and looking back it was a great last ride. Whatever possessed me to take a photo of it I will never know but I cherish that I did.

The week before my dad died he would have his first car accident and the last time he would ever drive his car. It was January 7th, 2011. He went our all day with his buddy Kenny (who is a Nascar driver) and played with cars and motorcycles, like boys do. He drove his black Z06 Corvette and was fairly tired from a long day. His illness was really taking a toll on him at this point, he probably weighed about 130 pounds soaking wet. He was frail and exhausted. One quarter of a mile from his house he took a turn, a turn he loved, a little to hard with new tires, and feet that could not react fast enough. This is what happened.

He probably could have walked away with a bad limp but they insisted he needed to go to the hospital. So he did. I met him there a few hours later and they thought his spleen was bleeding. He insisted for them to stop poking him, that it was previous injury, but no one stopped. The continued to torture him as he cried and cried. at 5am they transferred him to Barnes. At 8am they said he could go home!! As mom my got him in the wheel chair the nurse noticed he could not walk well and said he had to stay for therapy. This was the beginning of the end for him. Over the next several days they would mess up his meds and he would slip into liver toxicity, common for him but this time he could not fight it.

They released him January 9. We took turns taking care of him and I slept on the coach next to him. January 11 I picked him up early from dialysis because he was not doing well. On the way home I could tell he was getting very toxic. He asked for me to take the long way home, kind of an unusually way. I started ask questions and he snapped back, LET ME GO MY OWN WAY. 48 hours later I would know what he meant, he knew he was dying.

January 12, he was really sick and we were avoiding the hospital because of the lack of attention he had been getting, we fed, cleaned, and changed him for those hours before we finally hired an ambulance to drive him to the hospital. The ambulance began to pull off and then stopped, jumped out and began to ask us questions. Hours later we would find out its because his vitals quickly changed and they confirmed he had a heart attack.

My friend Monica came to meet me at the hospital. Everyone when home assuming he was going to be ok, like all the times before. As the nurses updated us, Monica {a physician assistant} would tell me what was happening. I held his hand until my eyes could not stay open anymore and laid down. 30 minutes later the doctors came into tell us he was brain dead. Monica got the lucky job or calling my mother and telling her and the rest of my family to get to the hospital to say goodbye.

At 7am on January 13, he took his last breath and I said goodbye. He fought a good fight and taught me so much about life. Work Hard - Play Hard! Thanks to Chevy and the Corvette for all the memories of playing hard...

1 comment:

  1. you are loved! and your dad is soooo proud of you!


Follow Me on Pinterest