Motorhome Dreams Dead

Here’s Grant in our motorhome.  Well, what used to be our motorhome.  I sold it after he died.  I didn’t know how to drive it.  He was going to teach me the weekend after he died, but he was dead, so I didn’t learn to drive it.  

I know I can learn to drive it without him, it’s not that I don’t think I’m capable.  It’s just that, that’s what we had planned and instead of learning to drive a huge motorhome, I was learning how to plan a funeral during that time instead.  

Anyway, back to the motorhome, we bought it in December of 2018.  Grant was dead 8 months later.  During those 8 months we had both Grant and the motorhome. Grant learned every intricate detail of how to optimize the operation of it. 

He made little improvements all over, inside and outside.  He optimized the storage with placement of all the little things needed for driving and operations.  I optimized the bedding, clothing storage, kitchen/bathroom supplies and a few other little details.

Between the two of us, it was ready to grab and go just about anytime. With set up minimized to the quickest time possible, we could just go and quickly start enjoying moments.  We had only taken it out a handful of times.  Maybe 4 or 5 times.  

The weekend after he died, we had planned to take the maiden voyage after all the learning curve voyages.  That’s why we planned to teach me to do the driving at that time.  

Grant had been a commercial bus driver, commercial truck driver and of course he was motorcycle certified.  He could drive airplanes too or rather fly them.  He was the ultimate pilot of any vehicle you could think of.  So naturally driving a big motorhome was already second nature for him.  

I fully trusted him to drive it, and didn’t really feel the need to try it out myself.  It was huge.  I know I could have driven it, but it was definitely out of my comfort zone.  Him being there, helping me, that was my comfort zone out of my comfort zone. 

When he left, I had no desire to see that motorhome again.  What it represented was a bunch of trips I wasn’t about to take our kids on alone not knowing anything about the mechanics or the logistics of driving it.

I didn’t know about hooking it up, parking and I couldn’t imagine myself driving it alone with 4 kids getting into trouble in the back with no available adult to supervise.  So I sold it.  As fast as I could.  It hurt to sell it.  

It hurt to let go of all the memories we were supposed to make in it.  What hurt the most, was what it represented for Grant.  He’d finally bought something for himself and our family. With the sole purpose of time together, adventure, relaxation and experiences to remember. 

That was all gone now, not just for him, for me and our boys too.  He bought it because he finally felt like he could.  The moment he felt that freedom, it was taken in a split second. It was taken from him, from me and from the future of our children. 

It was the representation of so much loss.   I’m glad it’s gone.  I look back at the few pictures we had with it.   Those handful of camping trips we did.  The boys still ask, why don’t we have the motorhome anymore?  I sigh and tell them, it was for dad.

If he’s gone we can’t use it, I say.  I’ll still take you guys camping.  We’ll use tents.  Those I can carry and set up.  Maybe we can buy a trailer in the future.  Maybe something smaller that I feel more comfortable driving.

You guys would have to be in the car with me instead of running around the motorhome while I was driving.  I think about the alternatives.  They are ok.  But the alternatives still feel so big and feel like so much work without him.  

I think of all the ways I can create experiences like that on my own and they are far less grand. Yet I know that what I give them is perfect in the sense that it’s what I’m capable of and that’s just perfect to give them

As I look back on the brief time we had with that motorhome, it still fills me with sadness. It was a glimpse, just a peek of a life we almost had, and now we’re as far away from it as all those years we took to work up to it. Ten steps forward, 20 steps backward.

I sure wish I could give them the things they’re dad did. I can’t. But I’ll give them my best and my best is good enough. That’s something I feel grace and gratitude in. I feel so thankful that I can take care of these boys in the ways that I do.