Back to the Past, and Back to the Future

This may be the first piece of fiction I believe I have ever written. All of my my writing, at least what I can remember, comes from my own thoughts, and feelings. My release from writing, comes from writing about my own experiences.

The below piece is homework from a recent therapy appointment. 
I have seen a therapist since my Dad died in September, 2017. 

Just as my grief has evolved over the past almost 2 years, so has my anxiety. I have reached a point in time where by my choice, I was ready to deal with some of my underlying anxiety that I have never dealt with before. I addressed and admitted to, for the first time ever, eating my emotions. 

I felt my grief change and this metamorphosis start to take shape a few months ago.

My therapist has given me homework before, but she never followed through to the point of "did you do such and such" .. She always left it up to me whether or not I did what was suggested. In the end, it was I who would either remain where I was stuck or be helped.  

I told my therapist, and some others I confided in, I could pinpoint the beginning of my emotional eating journey, even down to the exact conversation I had with my Mom. I explained some breakthroughs I had discovered about when I was in school, where I could trace the beginning of my emotional eating to the 4th Grade school year, down to the conversation I had with my Mom.
"I am going to eat now to comfort myself and I will just worry and deal with it later" 
-- I was 10!!

The homework was to interact with the younger version of myself, the one that began emotional eating and comfort him. She said since she knew I could write, she was looking forward to seeing what I wrote the next time I see her (in a month). It terrified me and made me want to panic. In fact, I told her I was panicking and anxious during that appointment when she gave me this - I did not want to revisit that time nor that anxiety.

Back to the Past, and Back to the Future

I walked up to the front door, and even though I lived there for many years growing up, I felt like a stranger. I saw the unpainted wood colored screen door that I once slammed to scare the bejeesus out of my Dad and I smiled. Some things never change.

I went to knock, and then decided I didn’t need to – I wasn’t a stranger, I was returning home.

Everything was as I remembered it – my Dad’s desk and his green office chair directly in front of me.

The faux wood oval shaped dining room table.

The kitchen and the bedrooms, down the hallway to the left.

This young man, perhaps even a boy was there as I walked in, sitting and eating some cookies.

He smiled, but I could tell something was bothering him.

It was me.

“Hi, Jeff,” I said.

You don’t know me, yet. But you will.

I am here from the future to tell you it will be OK.

Things will be OK.

I know you worry about a lot of things, about your Dad and his health.

About school and those bullies.

About your grades and wanting to do well.

You are going to survive.

You will not be the loner, the outsider like you are now.

You will be respected for the knowledge and empathy and compassion you share with others.

You need to care of yourself.

You don’t see it now, but you are starting to develop the strength that is going to carry you through your years.

I know you told your Mom you were going to eat your emotions, and deal with it later, but its OK.

Its ok to be upset.

Its ok to cry.

Its ok not to be OK.

In the end, it will all be OK.

I promise you, you are going to survive things you don’t think you are capable of.

But that inner strength you are developing will carry you far.

You see, Jeff, I am you.

And you are me.

I can’t disown something that is myself, so I am embracing everything that makes me, me. Including you.

The younger me, got quiet.

“You’re Me?”

“Yes”

“Like Back to the Future?”

“Yes, Exactly. Remember that part where Doc Brown tells Marty that he can’t change the past and disrupt the space-time continuum?”

“Yeah”

“Well, that’s true. I know you are lonely, and scared, and those kids at school don’t make you feel welcome. But I don’t want you to change a thing. You see, because part of what are going through, and will go through – will make you and me who we are today. We will grow from this.  And although you might not get all of this now – one day, you’re going to be the man that comes to this door and comes in and has this conversation with a young boy.”

You’re going to help that young, boy, as I am helping you.

“You’re me?”

“Yes”

“WOW! Its like the older brother I always dreamed of wanting!!”

“Yep, you can definitely think of me in that way”

“Will you be back?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I can tell you – that whenever you need me – I will always with be you. Just put your hand over your heart, and think of what you want or what you are having trouble with..and know I will hear you and know what you need”

I kneeled down to young Jeff’s level and we hugged, as I rubbed the back of his head and told him we were both going to be OK. It was going to be ok to let things go. 

After writing the above, I wrote:
I was terrified at the idea of writing this. It took me a few days to build up the nerve to write. Sundays for me I call Soulful Sundays. I am pensive. I tend to write, reflect on what I miss more about my Dad. He died on a Sunday. One Sunday morning, I sat at the computer and the story poured out. 
 

As I began to write and interact with the younger version of myself, I started to cry as I felt his pain, his pain was my pain. It was awesome to be able to put into words my love of time travelling and to see our apartment as it existed back then, in every detail. Then, it changed along the way as I continued to write. I discovered I wasn’t writing to him – I was writing to me. I was telling myself its OK to let things go, and not hold on. What I was scared of, I actually ended up enjoying – helping the younger of myself. ME Helping ME.  

I enjoyed it so much, I am hoping/planning to write more along these same story lines.

I am generally a perfectionist, and I feel my art is painting a picture with words. I write something, and then I go back and add "this" or change "that" to make it "perfect." However, this piece of writing was different..The story itself, I decided (and refused) to make any changes. I left it as is, in its raw and untouched form. It is exactly as I initially wrote it. I had no urge to change anything. It was perfect the way it was written. It made me realize - so am I.

 

Carry On, My Wayward Son, For There'll be Peace When You Are Done

I heard the song "Wayward Son" by Kansas play in the car. As I heard the lyrics, I related to them. I thought, that's me:

"Carry on my wayward son
For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more..."

 

My Dad and I both had quite extensive music collections on each of our computers.I found out we were very similar in this way after his death - we both had similarly categorized folders of music categories (Oldies, Soundtracks, Jazz, Rock etc)... When I combined his computer with mine, I moved his music over to mine, but I did not combine the folders. I didn't really touch his folders or look at them much -- I left them intact.

Today, in an an effort to connect with him, to distract myself from thinking too much, and maybe because I am just at that point in my grief and ready (he's been gone almost two years) - I integrated his music and mine. I listened to some. I deleted some songs that I had no interest in. I felt bad as I copied or deleted the first few files, like shouldn't I keep his stuff intact so I can listen to just his music. But then I changed my mind. He won't be here to listen to it or yell at me for touching his stuff (something I was infamous for and got yelled at many times over the years, especially when I was younger).

I changed my mind and the fear dissipated. As I combined his music with mine, I thought, it's a metaphor for how we go on with life after their death. We fight it at first, we want to go back to how things were and leave things the way they are. We want to, but can't. But we realize the best way to carry on their legacy, is that we, their children, are the best part of their legacy. We carry part of them forward with us. Just because there are no longer separate folders of Dad's music vs My Music on the computer doesn't mean his music isn't there. It is. His music is intertwined with mine, and mine with his. Amazingly, i found peace. You find a way to live among, and besides the grief. You find the motivation to combine song files and make them one.

Our favorite quote from the original (1978) Superman movie was the quote Jor-El said to his son Kal-El as he said goodbye to him and saved him from devastation on Krypton. We both routinely lived the last line as he aged and suffered from the effects of the cancer. We related to it so much I made it part of the eulogy I gave.

"But we will never leave you... even in the face of our deaths... the richness of our lives shall be yours. All that I have, all that I've learned, everything I feel... all this, and more I... I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you... all the days of your life. You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your own eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father, and the father, the son.”

By working on and working with his music on my computer and combining his music and mine, I have done exactly that. I have always, but I carry my Dad within me. His memory, his strength, and now I carry his music within mine. <3

The Circle of Life

I've now seen the somewhat live action remake of “The Lion King” twice.

Overall, I was happy with it. It did good. There were a few points where I felt the original had the upper hand, but it’s hard to match, or even surpass, an original.

A few hours later after seeing it, My brain and emotions were just starting to process what I saw and felt.  Obviously, I knew the story going into seeing it, so it was not a surprise. I knew what to expect.

I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head called “The Lone Tear.”

When you are missing someone who has died, there is this thing I call “The Lone Tear.”
You never know when it will hit.
A random song on the radio, or even a movie you see.
The lone tear can return, and usually does, without warning or any notice.

The Lion King is a lone tear moment.

The circle of life shown visually in the movie, is indeed, representative of the true circle of life we live and experience.

In Ecclesiastes, it is written, For everything there is a season:

The Lion King, like many of my favorite movies, is full of symbolism.

Scar is symbolic for the struggles and challenges in your life.
Scar is cancer, dementia, or Alzheimer’s disease.
Scar is when you lose your job or a relationship ends.
Scar is when someone you love dies.

In the movie, Scar is jealous of his brother Mufasa, and schemes to hurt Mufasa, and his son, Simba, any way he can. He feels entitled and that something stolen from him. In reality, he is the one stealing things from everyone else.

In my world, Scar is cancer and the fear of losing others in my life.
He tries to steal the joy that Mufasa and Simba share as Father and Son.
He tries to disrupt the lives of those who remain after Mufasa dies:
Simba, Simba’s Mother, and the rest of the Pride. You could actually make an argument that all of the Pridelands and the animals therein, were affected by Scar and his Actions.

As in life. The repercussions are largely impactful well beyond just the wife and son of the deceased when someone dies.  Simba loses his way. So did I. 

Mufasa's advice to his son is:
Look inside yourself, you are more than what you have become.
Remember who you are.
You are my son.

I have read and have stated, “The only known cure for grief...is to GRIEVE.”  By working on myself, By grieving, by grabbing and enjoying those little moments that aren’t so little, and by cherishing and enjoying the opportunities and moments life offers me, by living through the bad days instead of fighting them as I usually do..by being me is the best way to honor him.

Rafiki reminds him that his father lives on IN him.
Simba hears his Dad provide some needed advice, and remembers who he is. He reclaims his place in the Circle of Life and states that He is Simba, Son of Mufasa. I am Jeffrey, Son of Alan and Marion.  

But, I am so much more.
Like Simba, I am the best living testament to my Dad and Mom, and how they raised me.
Mufasa lives on through Simba.
My Dad lives on through and in me. 


When Simba takes his place on Pride Rock, he hears his father say "Remember!"
Today, I took my symbolic place on Pride Rock by giving up my Dad's shirts today so that they can be made into a blanket I will soon be able to use, a blanket made full of memories..and love.

On the days I am struggling, I try to remember and hear my Dad in his own voice, in my head, telling me:
"Don’t worry about the small shit, and it’s all small shit. There is nothing more you could have done. It was my time, Whizzo. I love you and am with you" 

I take my own place in life by enjoying life. 
Not only because my Dad would want me to.
Not only because I should.
Because I want to survive and thrive.

I ran across this quote recently in a grief group, and it's appropriate to close with here:

"Your parents defined you in so many ways and when faced with decisions their advice and wisdom will wash over you to the point that you can actually relive a memory and hear them helping you to grow into the adult you are now"

Thanks, Dad.
I didn't think I was ready when you left, and I still don't think I would ever would have been, no matter how much time I had.


But you gave me everything I needed to be successful - I just didn't know or realize it.

We must remember who we are.
 

Breakthrough

WARNING:

This is an emotional post and contains major plot points regarding two recent movies: "Breakthrough" and "Mia and the White Lion"

I recently saw the movie "Breakthrough" about a young teen who suffers a tragic accident, and how his mother prays for his safe recovery.

From the previews, I could tell it was going to be a tearjerker, but still I wanted to see it. I don’t shy away from movies that affect my emotions or trigger me. Actually, quite the opposite. I gravitate towards them. I see others like myself, who express their emotions and deal with the ugly, and not so pretty or positive in life. I get a chance to release some emotion over someone else’s situation, instead of my own. Even at risk of getting triggered, I generally still find such movies to be positive experiences for me.

Back to the subject at hand. So I saw "Breakthrough" and as I expected, I got triggered with my own grief, but good. I related to the Mom praying as her son lay there dying and laying lifeless. I related to how with every fiber of her being, she believed she could bring him back from the dead. I related to this on a level that hardly anyone knows.

The night my Dad died, when I finally made it to my parents apartment, I did the exact same thing as the Mother in this movie. I laid on the floor next to my Dad and I prayed harder than I ever have for anything in my 45 years, harder than all the medical and cancer scares, harder than my own struggles with different events in my life. I had such strong faith, I thought I could will my Dad back to life. I was sure of it. He had always pulled through before. He was going to open his eyes, I would hug and kiss him, and we would go on with life. I prayed and prayed, I cried, I hugged him, I told him I was sorry I hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

I was actually flabbergasted he didn’t wake up.

So you can see, or once you see this movie, you will see, why this movie and topic is such a struggle. In the movie, the prayer works. A miracle occurs. The miracle I wanted, but was not meant to be for me or my Dad. The miracle I feel was stolen out from under me, like a carpet ripped from the floor.

I was thankful the movie showed that miracles happen, but I was left wondering why not my miracle. My hope and faith were just as strong as the Mother in the movie. So was my Mom’s. Why not my Dad?

He would be the first one to tell me "why not me" should not even be a question because it implies "why not someone else"

There is no answer. I felt strongly enough about this we went to the cemetery to visit my Dad so I could ask him myself. And I did. 

In a strange coincidence, as we entered the cemetery, "Stand By Me" was playing on the radio. This is ironic because after we left the hospital when my Dad was initially diagnosed with cancer, the same song was playing on the radio as I walked from the car into our apartment - in 1988.

I told him it wasn’t fair. I asked him why couldn’t we get a miracle, too. My Mother was right next to me as we talked and I told her I just didn’t understand why.

After we left the cemetery, we saw another movie that had another lesson for me to learn. "Mia and the White Lion" - a girl becomes attached to a lion that she helps raise from birth, and then she helps to set it free in a preserve. Although she and this Lion were intimately attached to each other, she loved him enough to set him free.

I’m coming off a weekend where my Dad’s loss is noticed and felt more - celebrating Passover with family. We are heading into next weekend, the Chandler Relay for Life - another event with strong memories of life with my Dad and honoring his memory as a cancer survivor.

I was kind of aloof about this while he was alive, and you could even say denial to a point...but Relay has taken on a brand new meaning on a whole new level without him being there. It is tough, and I expect this year will be no different - only our second one since his death.

I’m not there yet. Well, more accurately, sometimes I can set him free, and sometimes I cannot.  Such is grief. I love my Dad.  The struggle of mourning is how do you let go of someone you love so much. How do you let go of something that has stolen your innocence and a part of your heart.

I feel like I’m in the middle of my own breakthrough. I haven’t figured it all out yet, and I think there is definitely more to uncover. Much of what I’ve written here I haven’t expressed before.

More to come, as I am definitely a work in progress.

Remember Who You Are

In high school, I took a BASIC (computer language) programming course. The only way I made it through that class and passed, was due to my Dad helping me understand the logic. I remember receiving the assignments and feeling completely clueless. Once he wrote the program and explained his logic, I understood, but to my recollection - I never successfully wrote my own programs in that class. The only reason I passed was him writing the programs for me and thank G-d for an open book exam at the end of the class.

I realized then, somewhere in my early teen years, I was not made to be programmer. I would try again after I started working in I.T. almost 12 years ago. I was able to learn basic scripts, but anything more complicated confused me. As in everything else in life, I don't learn it the first time, I re-learn time and time again.

Yet again, I realized I was just not made to be a computer programmer. My Dad would say "I'm the Programmer" and he's (I’m) the Super User, and he was right. I would test his code and find where the breaks were, or where something didn't work as I thought it should. I realized my passion was not in programming, nor would it ever be. My passion is in helping others - and in this case, by being the Super End User that I am.
  
My Dad chose the American Cancer Society and the Relay for Life, and serving on its various committees, etc as his way of giving back. He wanted to show other cancer surivors that cancer was NOT a death sentence. He tried to prime me to take over his role on the Leadership team, but that was his passion, and unfortunately - not mine. He tried to show me what he did, but just as he is the computer programmer and I am not - it did not capture my passion.

Now, some 20 Months after my Dad has passed, I have, over time, come to the realization that to effectively carry on his legacy, I can't simply repeat his steps. I needed to find my own way to volunteer and give back.

Over this time, I've found my own ways to give back, and give others hope.

I've donated bone marrow twice, and I routinely choose to donate my platelets, generally once a month. I specifically chose platelets because his platelet counts were always low, and I am helping someone who is in a similar medical situation as he was. Helping them helps me. I was thrilled to find out one of the first times I donated that my blood type is a Universal Donor for Platelets, and any of the other blood types can accept my platelets.

I am not as involved in the Relay as we were when he was here, but still, we participate in his honor and memory each year, and I proudly take his place as the Team Captain now. I participate in my own way - not his. This year, I had the opportunity to submit a work of writing for a contest themed "Cancer Can, and Cancer Cannot" and I was one of 8 winners whose story was displayed at Relay.  I wrote, and I shared, my story. 

 
To my surprise and great honor, I was one of the eight winners leading the Survivor Lap. Wow! What a fantastic way to carry on my Dad's legacy and pay homage to him. Years ago, he lead the Survivor Lap as well.

My Dad let us know he was with us, by the young ladies singing Queen songs at Relay and that I kept hearing in the days after, to the yellow butterflies I seem to attract.

In the Lion King, In the Remember Who You Are scene, Mufasa (the Dad) relates:
"Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the Circle of Life."

I have found and continue to work on establishing my place in the circle of life.

I have spoken on being a caregiver and after everything  I have gone through and learned as a result of losing my Dad, I hope to share with others, and I do, as much as I can.  

This is what I do.
This is who I am.

Let’s do this, Simba.

Ain't Nothing Gonna Break My Stride

My friend Julie and I are walking and 5K buddies.

Our agreement is she goes and picks up the packet (shirt, race bib, etc) for us and I drive to the race itself. It works for us. We each help each other, and benefit.

A few weeks ago, she suggested a new one for us: 
The Foundation for Blind Children's Stride for Sight.

It sounded fun and it was for a good cause, so we both registered.

We arrived plenty early, and walked around the setup area. They had an obstacle course setup so that you could experience what a blind person deals with on an every day basis.
Our eyes were covered with goggles that took away our sight.

I wrote:

Very eye opening (and challenging) to complete this obstacle course without sight and using the white cane to determine what was in my path and what way to turn. Major props to everyone for whom this is a daily challenge for.
  

There were garbage containers, traffic cones, items that you could easily trip over, even a simulated curb (step up and over). I was completely out of my element and when they told me I had finished, it had seemed like a really long time and that I hadn't moved that far, when in reality I had completed the entire course (with some guidance of course).

I thought that in itself was quite an eye opening and enriching experience - to see what others who are blind go through. I gained new respect for my cousin and others like him.
It was a "WOW!!" moment.

Shortly thereafter, they started to line us up for the race. To my surprise, Julie had another white cane and 2 sets of blindfolds to again take our sight. We were were going to walk at least part of the race without sight!  I must have missed that part when I signed up. Oops. LOL.

We went through the start line and then I placed the mask on and walked the first mile with my sighted guide (Julie). Unlike the obstacle course where I was moving the white cane in front of me as I have seen many others do, we found for the race it was easier (and quicker)  to walk with me in the back and Julie in front with both of us holding the white cane/stick. If we hadn't, I think it would have taken us much longer to complete.

Even so, I found it even more of a challenge than the obstacle course. As we left, I heard someone who also was blindfolded exclaim "I am sweating because I AM STRESSED!!" and I thought, "I'm right there with ya!!" 

Initially I felt my anxiety and probably my blood pressure, rise. It made me think of that that trust fall thing where you have to trust and faith that the group will catch you. You have complete faith and trust in the group, and in my case, in my walking partner/sighted guide. Although I already trust her as my close friend, it was an exercise in performing what I struggle with in other parts of my life - letting the control go and relying on someone else! We had to help other to succeed, and we did just that.

I started to panic and felt my anxiety rise at not being able to see, but my other senses also were heightened and razor focused - my hearing, for example. I heard the cars pass us by and could determine how close they were to us.  (We walked on one lane of a half closed off road). Hearing the voices around us - I could tell when were in groups of people and when we were not. When we were around large groups, hearing all the voices at once was almost a sensory overload kind of situation. I heard every single voice. I heard the sound of the wind. Both of those latter two, I discovered I don't really pay much attention to normally.  Perhaps my sight takes over and makes the people's voices in a crowd and the sound of wind lessen in comparison to what I can see with my eyes.

Unlike true sight loss, we could still see some sunlight peaking through the bottom of the blindfolds. I wanted a "true" experience, and so I closed my eyes for much of the walking to remove the sunlight. Without any other voices near me, except Julie, at times..I did not intend to, but I found without my sight and without the overwhelming voices of large groups - I found peace, I found calm, I was meditating without even trying to do so.

I didn't realize either how much related to my vision I just take for granted. When you have to walk a little to the left or to the right to avoid something, curbs, steps, potholes, 
cracks in the ground that make no difference to someone with sight, but you step the wrong way and panic sets in.

It made me very thankful and appreciative - of what I have, but also what I see others struggle with.

I walked the first mile blindfolded.
We switched, and Julie walked the second mile blindfolded so she could get a taste of her own medicine as my guide! LOL

Even after I took the blindfold off, It kind of felt like I had gotten used to not relying on my vision and I tripped over two of the traffic cones on the route. It was as if I wasn't paying attention visually because I was used to relying on my sense of touch and hearing - as I had been over the past mile or so.

Although I initially blew it of as just me being the klutz that I am, after Julie took her blindfold off, she did the exact same thing!

There is this quote by Elvis Presley that is on my list of favorite quotes:
 

"Don't criticize what you don't understand, Son. 
You never walked in that man's shoes"

Although criticize is not exactly the right word choice here, I do feel like after today, I have walked in some shoes I have never had the chance to experience before.

I got to experience firsthand and be exposed to, how is life for someone who is blind.



I can't wait to do this one again next year. See you next year, FBC Stride for Sight!
 



 

The Chair

I wrote recently on Facebook:

This is what grief looks like. Even though it’s been my computer in the office, I was using Dad’s chair. It had been getting on in years for a while - even before he died.  After he died, the leather began peeling more, and it started falling apart. The right arm became unhinged one Saturday morning. Still, it was a connection to my Dad, and part of me thought, he is going to kill me for touching stuff in his office! 

This extended to the chair - After someone you love dies, you will grab onto, and keep your hands on, anything you can get of theirs. I have needed to replace the chair for a while, and we’ve been looking for a few weekends, but never found the perfect fit. It was time. I was ready. Today, we hit a couple more stores, found it, bought it and 30 minutes later it’s in its new home. Wheeling the old chair out, I felt a certain measure of peace. I think Dad would approve. What’s he gonna do, ground me??

Recently, I've had a set of dreams that have led me to believe that either Dad is trying to transcend to his next level of afterlife, or that he needs my help to move him and he wants me to move myself along too. Dreams where he is in his car needing help, where we are at a car dealership buying a new car for him, and the latest one where he is helping me to setup a new apartment I have moved into and he brought me a red alarm clock, as if to say WAKE UP! I AM STILL WITH YOU even if you are someplace new. Very interesting and comforting dreams, indeed.

There are some movies that just speak to your soul, and yesterday we saw one of them. The last time I felt this strongly about a movie, I had seen "The Shack" and "Collateral Beauty" in the year before Dad died while he was really struggling and I felt those movies were helping me to prepare for what I knew lie ahead.

This time, the movie was "Faith, Hope, and Love" and the description sounded good:
"a heartwarming romantic comedy about two vulnerable, lost souls who have each suffered deep losses and have their guards up as a result.  When they enter a dance contest, and become partners, they begin to discover new perspectives on life, love, and faith"

Yes, I cried, but happy and good tears, not uncontrollable sobbing. I related to the themes and emotions expressed in the movie. Wife, Husband, and 2 young daughters, The wife died about 2 years ago and Dad is having trouble moving forward. The wife had written a letter to her husband "in case of my death" which he struggles as to whether or not to read throughout the movie....It hit really close to home - My guard is definitely up as a result of my Dad's death. 

He meets the dance partner who has her own struggles with loss and learning to love again.

The movie just spoke to me..It was one of those, like The Shack and Collateral Beauty, that I felt destined to see, that I felt was delivering some messages I needed to hear. In this case, the movie was my teacher:

It's ok to move forward. 
It's ok to be happy again.  
It's ok not to let grief be the foremost thought.
It's ok to let some things go.

If I wasn't convinced enough that the movie was a sign for me..We went to Cost Plus World Market after dinner looking for something, where this book (a blank journal) on display captured my attention.

Buying the new chair and throwing the old chair out without looking back or feeling guilt was a large step for me.

It was a measure of Faith, of Hope, and of Love.

More large steps to come.

PS: Running errands the day after I posted this...another Faith Hope Love appeared in my path when I returned to the car after stopping for lunch.