Open to Possibility

It was a beautiful summer day and I was changing the oil on Jen’s Dodge Daytona.

We had two of them.

Mine as a 1985 Shelby Z.

Jen and bought it from a junkyard and re-built it from the ground up.

I had learned from a Shelby car club (Shelby stands for Carroll Shelby) how to take parts from an ice maker on a refrigerator, and trick out the turbo.  Basically, it was a vacuum line combined with an actuator valve which, made the computer think the car was getting twice the air, so it doubled the gas and the spark.

This greatly increased the horsepower making the car insanely fast.

Naturally, Jen wanted one like mine, so we bought her a nice burgundy Daytona.  Although it had no turbo, her wish for having her own was fulfilled.

As I was wrapping up the oil change, I was preparing to meet my friend (and employee) Chad, and his mother for dinner.  It would be the second time I’d get to meet her face to face.

The first (and only other) time we met, we got along so well I hugged her as she left.

I remember how cool she was, how free spirited, and how much she reminded me of my own Mother.

And, since I was into cars, (and still am) I loved the one that she had.

It was an Eagle Talon TSI.  Another turbo-charged Dodge, although it had a Mitsubishi engine.

We hit it off nicely to say the least.

Chad and I had become friends when we worked as marketing directors and trainers for the world head quarters of Powerhouse Gym in Farmington Hills, MI.

Everyone thought we were brothers.

After Powerhouse, I had started my own restoration company and hired Chad so our friendship could continue.

Going back to that warm summer day, Chad’s Mom was on her way down to see us from Atlanta Michigan (which I didn’t even know existed) so that we could all get together and have dinner.

However, somewhere around the time I had Jen’s Daytona on the ramps during the oil change, I missed a call from Chad.

When I checked my voice mail, my heart sank.

“Adam, my Mom is dead.”

That’s all he said. Nothing more.

I quickly put the last quart of oil into the car, and rushed to get it off the ramps.  I was in such a hurry that I had forgotten I’d put jack stands under the it for safety. I bent the metal behind the wheel well as I raced the car off the ramps.

When I arrived at Chad’s apartment, he opened the door, and I just threw my arms around him.

“We don’t die.” Is all I could say with any kind of conviction.

He told me that his Mom lost control of her car and it rolled several times.  As it rolled, she was ejected.

“They don’t think she was wearing a seat belt.” He said.

The medics said although she was thrown from the car, they were surprised that she died.  I’m not sure what that meant, but it didn’t change the fact that she was gone.

What I remember the most, was that this was a time in my life I was beginning to get a grip on Tessera. I KNEW we didn’t die, but I wasn’t sure what that meant, as most people would have considered me an atheist. (As I would myself at the time.)

I believed in a Divine energy, but not the way man had been trying to teach it to me through religion.

(It would be years later that the story of Tessera would give me an entirely new perspective on this subject.)

So, all I could do was try to comfort Chad with the knowledge of my personal experiences.

I remember so vividly standing by the apartment door when the police came.  They didn’t know we already knew, so when the officer slowly made his way up the stairs, I greeted him in the hallway with a warm smile.

He could tell by looking at me that his job was about to get a whole lot easier.

Before he could open his mouth, I confirmed to him that we already knew.

I’ve never seen such a look of relief in my life.

He handed us his business card and said to call him if there’s anything Chad or his family needed.

A few days later, Chad and his family had the funeral.  I worked a few hours that day, then rushed to make the two hour plus drive.

During the last few miles, I was pulled over for speeding.

When the officer asked where I was going, I told him a funeral.

He could tell by the look in my eyes I was telling the truth and simply let me go.

Once there, I was greeted by the rest of Chad’s family and gave my condolences.

Apparently they had already knew who I was because Chad’s Mom talked about me at some point.

Or maybe it was Chad, I’m not certain.

On a side note, I believe his mother had some of my music, but I can’ remember.

What I do remember, was that it was played sometime during the service.

But here’s the two things I remember the most from that night.

1. The fact that we were celebrating her life in a hunting lodge.  It was part of the family’s for years and years. It was like a big, comfortable, cabin to me.  Warm, inviting, with lots of space and history.  It was good to know his Mother had a good life and was surrounded by people who loved her so dearly.
2. After the gathering, we went back to Chad’s Mother’s house to stay the night.  As we were talking, I was trying to describe some of my experiences to his sister.  Chad already knew I was “into that sort of thing”, but his sister met me with resistance.  I’ll never forget her words.”The dead don’t talk.” She said almost angrily.

I know she was upset, but after more than twenty years, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, that the dead do talk.

But it’s not what you think, nor could it ever be explained to someone who has not had the experience themselves.

I say this, because we all have our own unique experiences which, are sometimes wrapped around our belief systems.  Some of us have dreams, some of us see doves on our window sills, and some of us see our loved ones in plain sight.

But for those of us who don’t believe, then that is the reality we will be met with.

This story isn’t one about faith, it’s one about life’s experiences, the roads we travel, and the choices we make when those roads come to a tragic end.

We do have a choice.  We can look towards religion, science, and others for our answers, or we can open our hearts and see the truth for ourselves.

But it’s not a truth that we can share opening with those not prepared for its message, it’s our truth.

And that’s the point.

Some of us live this truth every single day with irrefutable conviction.  And, some of us meet our truth with nothing more than faith, and this is good too.

But for those who don’t believe, you will never find your truth if the destination you seek, has already been mapped out by your resistance.

So, no matter what greets you in life, be open to possibility.

It’s what keeps us sane, faithful, and truly alive.

I thought I’d add the song from the album Alone in Paradise (Possibility) as it was written a few years after.

Image by Joel Olives

Share on Facebook

Tweet

Follow us