Meeting Wayne: A Treasured Encounter

The story of my car repair continues, but now it takes a magical and unexpected turn. I kept asking myself, “I wonder why this is happening? . . .there must be something I’m supposed to experience or some lesson I’m supposed to learn from all of this.” Now I know. I was supposed to meet a man named Wayne. He was going to help me, and I was going to help him. And our connection would be healing for both of us.

Wayne was the lead mechanic at the Subaru dealership in Missoula Montana, where my car was finally fixed. When Wayne and his colleagues heard about my story (a woman taking a solo road trip to see 10 National Parks in 10 weeks), they moved heaven and earth to get the part shipped overnight from Georgia. Then they worked overtime to install it and test it, so that I could continue my journey safely. It took a team of 3 of them to achieve this in 72 hours, but they did it. Wayne was in the lead and it was clear to me that he was going to do everything in his power to help me.

Wayne was a tall, strong, quiet man, with thick salt and pepper hair, and deep kind eyes. His energy was calm, thoughtful, and deliberate. He wore the traditional blue, one-piece mechanic uniform, with his name label on his chest. As he was assessing my car, I began pulling items out of the trunk to put into my loaner car. He looked up at me for a moment and asked in a quiet voice, “So, what made you decide to take this big road trip, by yourself, to see 10 National Parks?” “Well,” I relied, “I turned 50 on May 14th, and I wanted to do something special to celebrate by birthday. And, my partner of 16 years, who I loved deeply, left me suddenly a year and a half a go. It was shattering for me and I fell into an abyss of grief. When I emerged from the sadness, I needed to do something really empowering to acknowledge that I had survived.” Wayne wasn’t the kind of guy who made eye contact easily. But he looked me directly in the eye and said, “I thought it was something like that.”

He then told me that his wife died 3 months ago from cancer and he was in his own abyss of grief. He said, “I know what it’s like to be heartbroken and not know if you’ll survive. I took care of my wife everyday as she was dying. I didn’t want anyone else to do that.” I looked at him and said, “I’m so sorry you lost your wife. You loved her very much and you showed that in the most beautiful way, even in her last moments with you.” He swallowed hard and said, “I don’t believe in an afterlife, and it’s a good thing I don’t, because if I did, I’d want to go and be with her now.” His eye got glassy and his voice cracked. We both looked at each other with mutual compassion. “Wayne”, I said, “Can I give you a hug?” He smiled at me and opened his arms widely. Wayne and I wrapped our arms around each other in the garage of the Missoula Subaru dealership and stayed that way for a full minute or more. We didn’t care who was looking or what they thought.

Wayne and I talked for another 45 minutes about love, life, and loss. About the courage to go on, re-build your sense of self, and find joy again. Wayne radiated humble goodness and I could easily imagine what a wonderful husband he was to his wife. He said, “I’m really a shy person. It’s not easy for me to talk to people. When something would happen in my day, I would go home and want to tell my wife about it. Now I don’t have anyone to talk to.” I listened and nodded, “Yes, that’s really hard.”

He told me about the first month after his wife died. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so sad. The guys here at Subaru said, ‘Wayne, we think you need to come back to work. Otherwise, you’re just going to fade into the woodwork.’ “They were right.” He said, “I came back to work and it was good for me. But I think I need more. I think I need to do something like what you’re doing. Maybe a road trip. . . .some kind of journey. But I don’t know what and I don’t know when.”

“You don’t need to know all of those answers right now.” I replied. “Give it time. It will come to you. It’s still early, Wayne. It’s only been 3 months since your wife died. It took me a year and half to be ready to take this trip. Everyone’s timeline is different. You may be ready next month or you may be ready in 2 years. Either way is okay. You’ll know when you’re ready.” He smiled at me and said, “Thank you. You’re such a sweetheart.” “Likewise” I replied. “See you tomorrow.”

The next morning I came back to the Subaru dealership to fill out more paperwork on the part they were ordering. Wayne was there, waiting for me. We greeted each other with warm smiles. “Your new head unit is on its way.” He said. “It should be here tomorrow.” I was thrilled. I hugged him and told him how grateful I was. “Wayne, you are the best.” I said. “You are the only one in the entire state of Montana who could help me.” He gave me a humble smile, and said, “I slept well for the first time in months last night. It was because of you. You gave me hope.”

I put my arm around him and said, “I’m so glad, Wayne. I know there is goodness ahead for you. You have such a good heart.”

The next morning, I came back to the dealership to pick up my Subaru. Again, Wayne was there, on his day off to make sure everything was in good order. He had installed the new head unit, tested it, rotated my tires and changed the oil. As I departed, I handed Wayne a gift. I bought him the book called Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain. It was perfect for him. I wrapped the book in one of my extra road maps. As I handed it to him, I said, “Wayne, I won’t forget you. I think our paths were supposed to cross. You helped me when I was in dire straits, and I'm glad I could put some wind beneath your wings.” He smiled and opened his arms for one last hug. “Yes, he said. I agree.”

As I drove out of the Subaru dealership, I waved goodbye to Wayne. I would never see him again, but I would never forget him. It was a rare and wonderful encounter.