Today was rough. Very, very rough.
The girls and I were in the car when my cell phone rang. It was Michael. He informed me that there was a couple at the Donut Shop, check in hand, wanting to purchase your little car. I knew it was coming. I mean, we HAD to sell it. But, upon hearing this news, I became very, very emotional. I just kept flashing back to your birthday last year, when you got the car you always dreamed of.
Dr. Penland offered to schedule an appt. in Jackson for a second opinion. You were not interested, but you wanted your sisters to believe you when you told them you were receiving the best care available. You didn't want them to have any doubts about Dr. Penland or the medicines you were taking, so you agreed to the appointment. After hearing that the Dr.'s in Jackson and probably across the grid, would have been following the same medicine/treatment pattern as you were getting right here in Laurel, I have to admit I was a little let down. Until that moment, there was hope that maybe--just maybe there was SOMETHING out there that could cure you. You told me later that you were not surprised by the news and that you were very satisfied.
Afterwards, in an attempt to make the day positive, we took you to get what you referred to as "the best birthday gift EVER".
It was far from brand new, a '03 and had just under 100,000 miles on it....But to you, it was straight off the showroom floor.
I rode with you in your little bug all the way home from Jackson, and we made Ronnie ride by himself in his truck! You had your sunroof open, and the windows down the majority of the drive. The whole way home you kept repeating "I love it! I absolutely LOVE it!!!". You had the biggest, most beautiful smile on your face. I will NEVER forget it. Regardless to the fact that you had just received such horrible news, AGAIN, you were beaming. I was so happy FOR you.
We held hands the whole way home....You were ok. Better than ok. You were happy and feeling good. It was a great day, and one I will hold dear to my heart for the rest of my days.
I remember the first time you drove it, and I also remember the last. It was the day I came home from the hospital with Mili. The girls and I were going to stay with you, so you were going to go to David's for some pizza and snacks. I asked you if you thought it was a good idea to drive, because you seemed kind of loopy (later we found out the disorientation was part of the dying process). You assured me you were fine, and you climbed into your cute little car for the very last time.
My hands shook today as I signed the title away. Then, I walked over and touched it one last time. I looked inside it. I saw you sitting there. You were happy. You were on your way home from a dr.'s appointment. Neva was in the back seat. You had country music blaring. She was dancing. I saw this and I cried. I rubbed my hand down the side as I walked away and continued to cry on and off until this very moment.
It was a sweet couple that bought it. At least your lil friend found a good home.
I found it very difficult to function the rest of the day. I just feel so bad. So guilty. I know that you told us we HAD to sell it after you were gone. You didn't want us keeping it or any other material item for sentimental purposes. But still, I feel so bad. It seems like you always had to sacrifice and struggle. But, you never gave up and you never complained. I just hate that it took a death sentence for you to get the car of your dreams. I hate that we didn't make it happen sooner. I hate that you barely got to drive it. But more than anything, I hate the reason that it sold today. I wish so much that you were here to enjoy it, to enjoy us, to enjoy life. I'm sorry Mama. I sit here crying tonight, and I beg you to forgive me. I am so, so, very sorry.
I love you,
Nikki
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