It's taken a couple weeks for me to get back to some small semblance of reality or normality after the shock and devastation that has hit the motorsports world these last two weeks. It's also been a struggle to put together the right words in tribute and in moving forward after Dan Wheldon's fatal accident, because I've felt gutted. Last week at work was the first "normal" week in more than a month, all things considered, as we were back to regular production after closing production on what became the Dan Wheldon tribute issue. By the way, that doesn't get any easier to write.
We'd spent the previous three weeks assembling the program, in painstaking detail, for the Las Vegas IndyCar finale. Then, in the first dozen laps, the mentality changed. We were no longer in a position where we could embrace what we had put together; we shifted into shock, desperation and disbelief as we lost one of the sport's greatest champions.
If there was one thing that was universal in the last two weeks, it was the fact we all revealed how much Dan Wheldon had in some small way,touched everyone he met - mostly with incredible experiences. Mine, as I elaborated on in my official remembrance, was a chance to race him on a simulator for SimRaceway at Infineon Raceway (SEE ABOVE). That he embraced what was, for him, a PR obligation with such a smile, openness and willingness to engage with his counterparts for the time we raced, spoke volumes. That was all I needed to know about the type of individual Dan was.
On top of that, we saw the power of community. One post that hit on it most was a Canadian friend of mine's, Michelle-Marie Beer, better known as "Meesh," who explained how much community was a part of the process from the angst of the accident, to making it through the week in-between the accident and funeral and memorial services, to moving forward.
It's been said racing is a very small but tight-knit community and nowhere was that more evident than at Las Vegas as we all stood and watched the parade laps on pit road. There were embraces with my longtime friends Michel Jourdain Jr., a former CART race winner in his own career, (LEFT, IN PRE-RACE) and a genuine mate in Patsy White - an ace pit spotter. But also, there was the connection established with new people I'd only met within the last couple months - Martin Plowman and his girlfriend Nicole for instance - as we all sobbed, cried, hugged and thanked each other for being there in this time of grief.
As we moved away from the track, we all separated physically. For me, I have to admit, it's been a tough transition since I moved out to California on my own to begin with - and the events of the last two weeks only exacerbated the anxiety. Still, the outpouring of support while on my own from friends back home who saw what happened, or from family members both close in actual proximity or via calls, texts, emails, tweets and Facebook messages, has been immense. It means a lot to know there are people who take the time to reach out, or if you reach out to them, they lend an ear or a few minutes to hear you out.
When you're on your own, you do have moments where you sit down and think about what's transpired, and how you overcome it. You can't sit there and act like seeing someone crash to his death doesn't affect you - that would be rather inhumane and callous. At the same point, you can't wallow in your own self-pity either; you have to pray for the people most closely affected (in this case, Susie, his two children and extended family), and think about what you, yourself can do to improve the situation going forward.
Knee-jerk reactions aren't the answer. Nor are lambasting, self-serving, egotisical and disingenous posts that only serve an agenda - that's the last thing you should be trying to purport when a tragedy strikes. Still, there are those either from the "passerby" national media that otherwise couldn't give a shit but did because there was the "ooooooh" factor of 15 crashing, flaming and four flying racecars. Or, there are those who scapegoat and don't offer any solutions.
As a journalist, and one who's only graduated from college only five months ago, Dan Wheldon's death has struck me in several ways. It's hurt because it was the first time I have ever covered a race - let alone the driver - when there has been a fatality. It's been very isolating because in the moments of anger and frustration away from the track or the office, I haven't had a shoulder to cry on (and I'm not ashamed to admit that).
On the flip side, it's brought me closer to some people I could have never envisioned being closer to, or, rekindled relationships with family members who have been there, witnessed that, and known how much a death hits. It's forced me to think about what I should have said, asked or written in the months since I started my new job - and what I should do going forward to act on the responsibility I have in my work role.
Both solitude and community help in the healing process. Being alone allows proper time for reflection. Having people to talk to, to get out emotions and try to discuss how motorsports moves forward after the last two weeks (where of course, we also lost MotoGP rider Marco Simoncelli, Lucas Oil off-road racer Rick Huseman and Iron Man Mike, 6-year-old Michael Wanser) can be therapeutic.
The best sign of the community since the accident, of course, was Graham Rahal's initial offering to auction his helmet to raise money for the Wheldon family - and that of course snowballed into the Dan Wheldon Memorial Auction. The outpouring of support from everyone involved to help the cause has been nothing short of staggering. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my cousin was fortunate enough to shoot the morning after Dan's first Indy 500 win in 2005, and a print he made has been included in the auction.
The mix of community and reflection can only be a positive as we look to move forward from these last two weeks. At least that's what I'm hoping for.
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As Monday is Halloween, it also marks another eery anniversary - a dozen years since Greg Moore's fatal accident at California Speedway in 1999. Still, rather than cry, Andy Hallbery has done an excellent series of remembrances in tribute. This one is a great interview with Max Papis describing the PlayStation races which may be going on for those who have passed on in this life, and some other great moments shared by the Italian. More of his stories are available on that website.
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