The Lincoln
In 2005 my parents bought their first new car ever - A Lincoln Signature Town Car. That fall, when they flew out to visit me, Mom was so excited to tell me all about it. As I recall, the story goes like this.
After sixty two years of marriage and buying only used cars they decided it was high time to treat themselves to something brand new, and off they went to a local dealer. Mom spied a pretty spiffy Buick, Dad made the deal, and they headed to the bank so Dad could get cash to pay for it.
However, as they were re-entering the car lot, Mom saw a baby blue Lincoln she hadn’t noticed before and wanted to take a look. She said that as soon as she opened the door, she was sure the Lincoln was the car for her, and when she sat in the driver’s seat, it was confirmed. The powder blue, leather seats were soft as butter and smelled wonderful. The adjust able brake and gas pedals were perfect for a 5'2" lady. It was solid, the doors closed with authority, and she felt so safe driving it, even on the Interstates.
“Just so you know, I left it to you in my will. But, don’t tell your brother, you know he will start shit over it.” My mom was every inch a lady, and so she knew just exactly how and when to cuss - irregularly enough so that it startles folks and they pay attention to what you say.
My response was, “Okay.” So I didn’t. I never told anyone in or out of my family and, actually forgot about it right away, never giving it another thought. Until...
The October of 2013 my father passed away at 90 years old. I loaded up and drove to Ohio for the funeral and my daughters flew out to meet me there. My eldest and I were just today talking about Dad’s funeral, and how it seemed so surreal, something out of a movie even. It was raining and dismal all day. The Scottish Rite gave a service. As the bagpipes played “Amazing Grace” and “Going Home”, their call rattled our bones and broke our hearts even further.
That night, back at Mom and Dad’s house, we girls, being my daughters, my two sisters, my nieces and their daughters, and my sister-in-law, were all up in Mom’s room “tucking her in.” Mom asked me to go get my guitar and sing “Inseparable From My Heart” for her. I did, but really struggled through. My girls rescued me by asking for some silly songs, then in between tunes, Mom looked right at me and said, “You still want the Lincoln, don’t you.” It was not a question, but nonetheless I startled. First, I hadn’t thought about it since 2005, and second, no one was supposed to know about it. Instantly she realized what she had done and said, “Well, I guess I let that cat out of the bag, didn’t I ?” I looked around the room and saw that everyone was looking at me with a “Whaaat?” expression. Everyone except my brother’s wife, who was looking quite upset.
Let’s say that my parents had an estate plan because it was and is a smart thing in regard to protecting any real assets one might have. Also, let’s say that, if one person were going to get everything in my parent’s estate, that “one person” would not be even close to retiring. There was not that kind of money in their estate. And, so, I didn’t think about it at all after that night. Not one whit. But, the “trouble” Mom spoke of started before I left the house to come home, followed me all the way to Arizona, and stayed quite a while.
Someday, I may tell that entire story. Maybe, maybe not. For now, I will say it was quite traumatic, in that my brother, in his infinite executor power trip, declared me a danger to my mother and I was not allowed in the house or to see her again before she died. But, in the spring, Mom followed Dad home, and that fall, when I flew to Ohio to pick up the Lincoln, it had merely 22K miles on the odometer. It was an interesting trip to say the least. I got to visit with my eldest sister, and together we sorted through what entitlements that had been put into storage for me. Afterwards, I swung down through Tennessee to see another sister there, cut through Nashville where I wrote “Cold Night In Nashville,” and then on through Oklahoma where I wrote the words to “A Crazy Horse.”
I was very pleased and blessed to have the Lincoln given me as a gift. Why Mom chose me, I can only guess and would probably be wrong. Mom did what she wanted and got what she wanted. The winter of 2012-2013, they came to spend a few months here in Arizona, and Dad often told me he had planned his whole life that he was going to die first, and “this is the one thing your mother is not going to get her way on.”
As soon as I got home and registered the car in Arizona, I tried to get a specialty plate that said THXMOM, but then and the ten years since, that plate has been unavailable. I have many, many good reasons to say “Thanks, Mom,” and November 4th, 2023 is the goodest reason.
I was heading to the gym late morning on that day, when I was broadsided by someone who ran a stop sign. I was hit primarily on the driver’s side B pillar and rear passenger door. It was a pretty hard smack, and I didn’t see it coming until the grill of the other car was in my left lower peripheral vision the moment before impact. I did not hit the brake but took my foot off the gas, passing on through the intersection and looking up in my review mirror for the other car. I watched it pass through the intersection and so turned around to follow. Yep, they were trying to get away, but the impact had damaged the front end of their compact car badly enough they were literally hopping down the road, finally pulling over. I pulled in behind and called 911 who sent Fire and Police. They both arrived before I hung up with dispatch.
It took two Firemen to get the driver’s side doors open, having to open the rear door first. I was told I did right by not exiting the Lincoln on the passenger side because of the type of impact. But, as soon as the doors were open, one Fireman gave me his hand to help me out and, before he let go, he pointed to the car and told me, “This car saved your life.” I told him my Mom left me the car when she passed away.
The Rescue medics checked me out and afterward I was leaning on the Lincoln, waiting for my turn with the Police. The Fireman came back to me and said he knew I was very upset about my car, that his sister-in-law had inherited a Lincoln from her mother. That Lincoln had tiny Looney Tunes characters dancing all along the side like pin-striping because her whole family was into Looney Tunes. He knew that car meant the world to her.
I told him that I always wanted to get a plate that said, “Thanks, Mom.”
“This car saved your life,” he told me again.
“Thanks, Mom. It’s not the first time you saved my bacon, that’s for certain.” Mom gave me the Lincoln for a reason she never revealed. Maybe it was a Mom’s intuition. And, she always got her way. Well, nearly always, huh Dad?
After a couple of months of trying to find ways to keep my Lincoln, I have had to accept that the insurance companies are in control. I understand. The cost of repair is more than 40% of the value. In this case, even with under 80K miles on it, because of the age of the car, the estimates for cost of repair are as much as 105% of the value. I can’t do that.
But, Thanks Mom. Your love and generosity paid off in boatloads. I’ll see you later rather than sooner.
© Nancy Elliott & Sonoran Desert Sage Publishing 2024
email NancyElliottMusic@gmail.com
Phone 520.705.5901