As I stood over the gray-colored stone, the rain soaking me through, images flashed before my eyes. The way he’d taken care of her so delicately, took her everywhere he went and fixed any damage that he might’ve caused. My fists curled up, nails digging into my skin. It had been an icy cold day when it happened. I begged him to stay home, that it was too dangerous to take her out. But he’d been so persistent about it, so confident. “Don’t worry, he said, smiling. I’ll be all right with Daisy.” Tears welled up in my eyes. The memory of it was still fresh in my mind, even though it happened five months ago. I remember the day like it was yesterday. On the morning of June 14, my sister called me telling me there had been an accident. A reckless girl had pushed Daisy and him into a tree, she said, crying. My dad initially survived but was severely injured. Daisy was badly hurt as well from the impact.
In the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest and fell into a coma. We were hoping, praying he would wake up. When he didn’t, the doctor gave us an ultimatum. Let him suffer or let him die. In that room that smelled of chemicals, the smell of death was stronger. I regained my senses, remembering where I was. The rain poured harder, and I could barely see the gray stone before me. I remembered the aftermath after we let him die. Daisy healed up nicely after her injuries healed up after a few months. But it didn’t change the truth of what happened.
She was unable to protect him or save him from death. I felt so bad for her, but there wasn’t anything I could do to cheer her up. Now we don’t take her out anymore. No one can coax her to come out with them on trips. The last time we attempted was when my mother decided to take Daisy out to the store. But she would not go, despite our protests. In frustration, my sister yelled at her that my dad would want her to go out. Ultimately, my family gave up on Daisy and went about their lives.
But, as I was standing staring at my late father’s grave, I saw Daisy drive up and flash her headlights at me, beckoning me to come closer. I approached her, opened the door, and got inside. The smell of minty fresh gum mixed with the scent of tobacco was an overwhelmingly welcome sensation. Then, I heard the radio turn on. The song Don’t You Forget About Me by Simple Minds came on. A smile crept across my face. It was my dad’s favorite song, and I started singing along. As I was doing so, the car drove away from the graveyard. I wasn’t scared or horrified that the car was driving by itself.
All I could focus on was the music and the smell of tobacco and gum that lingered in the air.
“Don’t you forget about me. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t you, forget about me.” Daisy drove down the road slowly, allowing me to view the outside. As she drove up to my driveway, I sang the last parts of the song. I didn’t tell my family or anyone what I’d witnessed that day, and everything returned to normal in our household. Or what we considered normal. After what happened at the graveyard, I decided I’d adopt my old man’s car, and I care for her the way he did.
Helenmollybooks 