The old girl needs a lot of work. An exhaust system, a blower motor for the heat and defroster; there's a seal leak in the transmission and the tailgate doesn't work. The ball joints are bad and it really needs at least front tires. She's also got 159,000 miles on her and, Hell, a paint job would be nice too. But the van simply isn't worth the money it would take to repair properly. I have to remind myself of that constantly.
The problem is that it's the last vehicle Dad bought. It became mine almost through inertia after he passed; I began driving it and nobody questioned it. So it's mine now for all practical purposes.
I'm not trying to be maudlin. I'm not sitting here with tears in my eyes as I hammer out this post nor am I hammered myself. The writing's on the wall and I see it plainly. I need to get another van.
Yet I'm fighting that truth tooth and nail. This rotten old 97 Caravan feels like my last tangible connection with Pops. I just want to make it last as long as I can.