The following content may contain information about depression, anxiety, self-harm and/or other related material which may be triggering. Reader discretion is advised.
We recently received a message from John, who tells us his story of he, his father and their Mitsubishi Lancer. We love hearing stories of perseverance and triumph and this one is a great reminder of the strength we get by doing what we love and through who we hold close to our hearts. It struck a chord with us, so we thought it should be shared with you:
I drive a 1993 Mitsubishi Lancer. I’ve had it for 10 years and it has been in the family for 15 years. This is a car my Dad and I worked on whenever he was around; a father and son project as we can call it. It still needs a lot of work though!
When my Dad passed away two years ago, I battled for months with mood swings and sadness, which was later diagnosed as depression. I was prescribed with medication and the car was in a pretty bad state as a result. It was left not running for almost a year because every time I uncovered it I started to remember memories of my Dad and how much we bonded because of this car. I thought about leaving it for dead and at the salvage yard or selling it just to keep it out of my sight.
But one day, I came home from work and could not sleep until morning came. I went to the garage, removed the car cover and tears dropped from my eyes. It’s like I saw an image of my Dad and I giving it wrench time. It hurt for a moment but it was a good kind of hurt: of longing, of memories. I cleaned it until I was too tired and gave it the TLC it deserved after a year of collecting dust. After two weeks, it was running again.
The first time I heard the engine, all the memories of my Dad were rapidly flashing in my mind. I kept my emotions in check and as I drove it for the first time after a year, I went to all the places that we used to visit. And it felt like he was there in the passenger seat with me; like a co-pilot, a brother, a friend who was telling me to be easy on the pedals and on my driving.
Two more weeks later, I was off the medication I was prescribed. It’s like I found the missing pieces and fixed the broken parts. I thank my Dad for learning process, for the memories, and for the time we have spent together.
I’ll keep it running as long as I can. See you soon, Dad.
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