After Richard’s death, one of the items I had to decide on was about cars.
I was using a 1995 Toyota Camry as my driving to work car. Had 160,000 something miles on it. Richard had a 2004 Toyota Corolla with less than a third of the miles my Camry had.
I needed to figure out which one to keep.
I liked my old Camry. It was comfy and it had cruise control. But the Corolla was much newer and it got better gas mileage, but only by a few MPG’s. And no cruise control.
The very last vision I had of Richard, I was watching out the front door, through the opening in the hedges, as he drove past our house on his way back to Lexington. I never saw him again. So there’s some emotional attachment to the Corolla.
I started driving the Corolla to work. And the Camry just sat in the driveway. I really intended to sell it, but just never mustered the willpower to get it done. It was one of many loose ends that are still just dangling out there.
The car sat in the driveway for a year and a half. I almost never drove it.
Out of the blue, people started knocking on our door, wanting to know if the Camry was for sale. It didn’t have a “For Sale” sign in the window and I wasn’t advertising it anywhere. In the space of a week there were 4 people asking about it.
The last was a young girl. She had a 3 month old baby and was pregnant again. I was at work when she showed up with her husband and her dad. Debbie gave her our phone number.
The next morning she called and asked if I would sell her the car.
“I probably would. I haven’t really thought about it much.”
“What do you want for it?” she asked.
“I have no idea what it’s worth. I hadn’t been planning to sell it,” I told her. “What would you give?”
She made me an offer that was what I’d paid for it two years before. In the heated negotiations that followed I managed to talk her down by $500.
So I sold my Camry.
Before turning it over to her, I cleaned out the console and glove box of my stuff. Papers and gloves and ice scrapers and spare change that were floating around the interior.
And that’s where the stumbling block comes in.
In the glove box I found the receipt from the pharmacy for the last prescription I bought for Richard. The one for the generic substitute for his seizure medicine. The one that killed him.
It wasn’t a good find.
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