Page 159 of The Legend
“If you’resure, it can be arranged.” I told my mom who was looking to me for approval.Aside from my brief press conference that ended short last weekend when theypressed for details, my family and I had yet to speak to the media and I wasn’tgoing to. For now, I kept quiet but if my mom was speaking, it was only rightthat I did too.
“Do youthink that can be arranged prior to the race?” Mom looked from me to Alley.
“I cantalk to NASCAR and see.” Alley said weary of my reaction. I wasn’t keen on myfamily talking to the media for the simple fact I didn’t want them judged. Anytime you talk to the media your words are transformed into what they want. Forthis reason, my wife and my kids never did interviews aside from Axel. And heonly talked about his career with racing, never family life.
It’ssomething I learned very early on that first year racing. Don’t talk to the mediaabout personal affairs.
But thiswas different. Jimi was an owner of a successful NASCAR team and Busch team forover twenty years. The NASCAR community and fans, wanted consolation and theywanted to show us their support.
When I wasin the hospital I got thousands of cards and flowers and letters, all prayingfor a safe recovery. They cared, and in turn, we should say something publiclyto let them know we cared.
I lookedover at Alley who was waiting for my response. “Let them know that prior to therace we will both publicly speak.”
Swaygasped. “Jameson?”
I lookedover at her. “I should speak to them. They want to hear from me as well as mymom.”
Shenodded. “If you’re sure,”
“I am.”
Themorning of the race, I tried to talk myself and my mom out of what we wereabout to do but I couldn’t. Instead I offered her an out.
“You don’thave to do this.” I told her. I wanted her to know there was no obligation forher to do this.
“Yes, Ido.” Her misty eyes focused on mine. “For them...forus...I have to.”
For monthsshe’d been quiet, now she was going to speak to thousands of fans aboutsomething very personal to her, to us.
We walkedin silence to the stage in front of the large crowd at Dover InternationalRaceway.
It wasn’tuntil then that I thought about what I would say to them.
I wonderedhow many of them had lost their fathers recently, or mothers, or husbands, orwives, or worse, a child. Maybe some were still dealing with the pain like itwas yesterday for some, maybe they cried less and focused on what their deathtaught them and how their memory could live on.
Approachingthe stage, I kissed my wife first, then my mom, and walked to the podium.Looking into the audience, my fears about what I would say seemed silly nowbecause I knew what to say. I would say the truth.
I spokewith a sorrow that I felt deep in my bones. Not just for my dad but foreveryone that had ever lost a loved one. I spoke with a sorrow for the littlebright eyed boy who captured my heart with his chocolate eyes and will tosurvive though his body couldn’t. I spoke with a sorrow for a man who taught mewhat coming home really meant and understood my love for his daughter before Iever did. A sorrow for those lost on my plane and a sorrow for a true friendwho died doing something he loved.
“I thinkthat most of you want me to say something heartfelt and meaningful. Somethingthat will make youfeelbetter when searching forsolace. You want something that will make a loss so great maybe not hurt asmuch, but I can’t. Words can’t capture the heartache and they’re not meant to.They are there to offer a mere comfort that someone understands. It can’t healyou but it can let you know you’re not alone. Your tears and support for ourfamily have touched us deeply and we thank you for that.” My hand found mychest over my heart. “We feel it here. We feel that just like you, we’re notalone in this and are forever grateful for your support. Thank you. All that Ican say is that we are here, living the only life our family knows.Racing.”I motioned behind me to the track. “This is how wekeep our memories alive.”
The crowdin attendance cheered and clapped as I finished the speech but my eyes remainedon the track behind me. It was a place that one year ago I watched my son dancearound like a pimp throwing one dollar bills into the crowd. It was a sameplace where my dad chuckled with emotion when he watched his son’s and theirbond of raising the window net together. It was a race track.A place that was home for us.Confined between concrete andasphalt, it had the power to heal wounds you never thought would heal. It’shard when you think about the past and looked to the present. It feels likeyou’re moving on without them but you’re not. You’re living life with theirmemory.
The crowdwas still clapping as I stood on the side of the stage. My eyes caught my momwho was holding Arie and Lexi close to her side as they cried.
I lookedto her one last time. Arie and Lexi moved to the side and reached for Sway andAlley, who were also crying.
“Are yousure?” I asked leaning into my mom to whisper in her ear.
“Yes,” shewhispered before kissing my cheek and then Spencer and Emma. “For us,” shewhispered.
Casten,who stood on the other side of Sway, smiled and gave me a wink. I chuckledshaking my head. He always knew when I needed a smile.
My mom wasnever a woman to get up in front of an audience, she enjoyed the shadows of allthis. But being the strong woman I always knew her to be, she knew his fanswanted to hear from her. Since the accident, she has yet to speak publiclyabout him and this being my first race of the NASCAR season; they wanted tohear from her and me.
Jimi hadnot only shaped the sprint car racing community to be what it is today but heleft his mark in NASCAR. Starting out as a one man team he built an empire andbehind that empire was the woman that drove him, my mother.
Wearing asun hat, dark sunglasses and the dress dad bought her on their anniversary manyyears back, she stepped toward the podium in front of a few hundred thousandpeople. I could tell she was nervous, just as I was. She was speaking of theman she knew better than any of us did and I was about to announce myretirement.
