Marianne and Mike’s Last Drive

Today’s story and photographs come courtesy of longtime CorvetteForum member mikeb, who lost the love of his life, Marianne, in October 2022. Mike also has a project 1976 Corvette featured HERE if you’d like to send along a kind word of encouragement…

The Girl With the Captivating Smile
(1970)

My good friend since grade school, Bob, had asked me if I’d like to go on a double date with him and his girlfriend Debbie, and Debbie’s friend Marianne. We were all 17 at the time. Juniors in high school. But the girls attended a different school.

I’d met Marianne at a party a week earlier. She just had a captivating smile and a gleam in her eyes. Mesmerized, I clumsily stumbled through that encounter, and later mentioned to Bob that I thought maybe I’ll ask her out someday.

By the next day, Bob had arranged this date, which happened to fall on the next Saturday – Valentine’s Day, 1970. Specifics of the date allude me, but I remember only one thing: this was the girl for me. I just knew it.

She took my breath away.

I had a few dates prior to this that I don’t recall ever getting close to the feeling I got being around this beautiful person. I was just glad that she accepted my requests for future dates.

So, life went on. We eventually got married two years later (January 1972), had three children, who also gave us four grandchildren, and spent a good life together for the next 49 years. Every Valentine’s Day, Marianne would give me a card, each one listing the anniversary year of our first date. There were plenty of ups and downs along the way, but damn if I can recall any bad moments that would last more than the day was long.

Until life got interrupted on the way to our 50th year.

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Monday Rides in the Corvette
(2014)

In 2014, Marianne’s life changed forever. Her parents, both in their late 80s, needed a full-time caretaker and she stepped into the role. In those days, I was still working full-time and cooking the family dinners. And Marianne would spend all day with her parents, come home after 7 pm, then stay up until 3 am or later taking care of both our and her parents’ household finances, laundry, etc. It was a hectic schedule.

To get away from her constant duties of being her parents’ caretaker, Marianne and I used to go on daytime trips every Monday. From May until October. Anywhere from 100 to 300 miles in a day. And mostly around our home state.

On these trips, we drove my 1984 C4 Corvette, which we had purchased in 2002. I did a lot to that Corvette over the years. New interior, radio, speakers, cat-back exhaust, wheel and tires, injectors, you name it. But I never did care for the C4 as much as I did our 1976 C3 Corvette, which we had sold in 1996.

The trips lasted until 2018 when Marianne’s dad took a turn for the worse and there was no more time for getaways. He passed later that year, although her mother is still alive today at 95.

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Life, Interrupted
(2021)

Life got interrupted on the way to our 50th year. In September 2021, Marianne was diagnosed with a brain mass in her right temple region. A larger mass was noted on her left lung.

Cancer. Stage 4.

The diagnosis — given straight out, no dilly-dallying around it — took my breath away. But this wasn’t anything like the day I met Marianne. On September 21, 2021, she had a craniotomy to remove a large mass from her brain above the right ear. The doctors gave her six to 18 months. She spent the next three weeks in the hospital, and I abruptly retired from my job and started taking care of my mother-in-law. Meals, shopping, medications, finances, you get the picture.

When Marianne got home, before she started chemotherapy, we spent a lot of time discussing the past. In one conversation, Marrianne said how much she liked the little day trips we used to go on. So, I started looking for a new project, with the thought in mind that we would again go on at least one of these day trips again.

We spent our 50th anniversary in a day hospital, Mare undergoing chemo treatments.

Valentine’s Day 2022 was our 52nd first date anniversary. She was in the hospital again and neither of us had time to get a card. She said she was sorry for not getting me a card. I cried. I regret not getting her that card. I should’ve made the time. The love of my life.

It was her last Valentine’s Day.

One Last Drive
(2022)

In June 2022, I bought a yellow 1976 C3 Corvette. Paid top dollar. Then spent the next three months refurbing it: replaced the seat covers, re-stained the console, rebuilt the E-brake mechanicals, new exhaust, plus many other goodies. I was going to have it painted red, but Marianne said she really liked the yellow.

Yellow it is.

By the end of August, I finally had it ready for a day trip. Unfortunately, Marianne’s health had deteriorated drastically over the last nine months, and she was not able to take a day-long trip. Instead, we took a 30-minute ride out to our son’s house through the Kettle Moraine Trail. If you don’t know the region, picture a beautiful drive through tree-lined, two-lane roads.

It was our only drive together in the Corvette.

The end of August was also the start of Marianne’s demise. All those cancer medications really took a toll. She was hospitalized until October 12, when she was released to Home Hospice. No more treatment. No more medication (save for pain relief).

Marianne died peacefully, I believe, at 7 am on October 31, 2022.

Just a few minutes earlier we had been discussing what she wanted me to make her for breakfast.
I thought she had fallen back asleep. When I called her to the table, she didn’t respond.

She fought the good fight for 13 months. “God has a plan for me,” she said. Complained about the pain, of course. But never about why her. Last month was my first Valentine’s Day without her since 1970. I shared our story here on CorvetteForum.

Now I have a nearly-completed project sitting in the garage (mostly all cosmetic stuff that I had planned on tinkering with) with no real goal for completion or even cruising. The car is worth maybe half of what I invested in it for that one quick ride.

But it is the ride I will remember most.

I love you, Marianne. Always.