Death and Dreams
On Tuesday the NASCAR world said goodbye to yet another champion of the series and also of life.
I’d been expecting it, I suppose, though there was a little bit of hope left in me that Benny would make it through his lung cancer complications. When Michael put a “We Love You BP!” decal on his car during testing Monday, I knew it was either a very good or very bad sign. A day later, Benny passed.
Benny was very dear to me in many ways. He helped me learn much of what I know about NASCAR during broadcasts and kept me on my toes throughout the entirety of races with his trouble alarms – yes, sometimes false alarms, but I loved them anyway. He was also very different from every other commentator because I can’t remember one time he actually said something bad about someone. I never did meet him personally, but at Pocono in July of 2005 he exited the broadcast booth and walked down through the middle of the grandstands, among a chorus of “Benny!” and “BP!”. The smile never left his face.
Only a few nights before his death I dreamed about him. It was one of those strange dreams that in one way make a lot of sense but in another don’t at all, but it was very vivid. He was at my house recovering and my mom (an RN, by the way) was taking care of him. It was the Benny we know and love except that he had a bit of a beard for some reason. Danni and I were sitting on the couch, on either side of him, and he was telling us racing stories from back in the day. I felt a lot of hope that he would get better. But later on in the dream I came down the stairs and looked into the living room, where he was lying on the couch. A sudden fear overtook me that he had died, but he sat up, looked at me and called me over. He put an arm around me and told me not to worry, that he would be all right. Even in my dream I wondered if he meant he would survive or that he would die peacefully. Yet it gave me comfort that no matter what the outcome was, he would always be around.
I had another dream that felt the same way once. In my freshman year of high school I met Brett Pelesz, a young, kind, handsome and talented man who was our chorus teacher. After a wonderful year working with him – in which we absolutely fell in love with him - he left our school to continue going to college and be a substitute teacher at Hudson. On April 26th, 2004, he died of bacterial meningococcal meningitis. He was only 21. I was devastated, for Brett was one of the most genuinely good-hearted people I’ve ever known.
Soon after, I dreamed about him. It was one of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had and I’ll never forget it. I was sitting alone in my math classroom when Brett walked in. I knew he had died, but wasn’t surprised to see him. He came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. “Everything’s going to be okay,” was all he said, and then he turned and walked back out the door, leaving me with an amazingly peaceful feeling.
Maybe they were dreams of mere coincidence, but I’d like to think otherwise. I’m not a religious person, but I do believe in spirits and souls. There is a chance that Benny and Brett were trying to tell me something, or maybe my subconscious spoke for them. Either way, although I miss them both terribly, I’m comforted knowing that parts of them will live on through the people who loved them.
Brett, I will never use a diphthong, and I’ll always sing from my diaphragm.
Benny, “oh-ho!” and cue the duck, you King of Cool.
I’d been expecting it, I suppose, though there was a little bit of hope left in me that Benny would make it through his lung cancer complications. When Michael put a “We Love You BP!” decal on his car during testing Monday, I knew it was either a very good or very bad sign. A day later, Benny passed.
Benny was very dear to me in many ways. He helped me learn much of what I know about NASCAR during broadcasts and kept me on my toes throughout the entirety of races with his trouble alarms – yes, sometimes false alarms, but I loved them anyway. He was also very different from every other commentator because I can’t remember one time he actually said something bad about someone. I never did meet him personally, but at Pocono in July of 2005 he exited the broadcast booth and walked down through the middle of the grandstands, among a chorus of “Benny!” and “BP!”. The smile never left his face.
Only a few nights before his death I dreamed about him. It was one of those strange dreams that in one way make a lot of sense but in another don’t at all, but it was very vivid. He was at my house recovering and my mom (an RN, by the way) was taking care of him. It was the Benny we know and love except that he had a bit of a beard for some reason. Danni and I were sitting on the couch, on either side of him, and he was telling us racing stories from back in the day. I felt a lot of hope that he would get better. But later on in the dream I came down the stairs and looked into the living room, where he was lying on the couch. A sudden fear overtook me that he had died, but he sat up, looked at me and called me over. He put an arm around me and told me not to worry, that he would be all right. Even in my dream I wondered if he meant he would survive or that he would die peacefully. Yet it gave me comfort that no matter what the outcome was, he would always be around.
I had another dream that felt the same way once. In my freshman year of high school I met Brett Pelesz, a young, kind, handsome and talented man who was our chorus teacher. After a wonderful year working with him – in which we absolutely fell in love with him - he left our school to continue going to college and be a substitute teacher at Hudson. On April 26th, 2004, he died of bacterial meningococcal meningitis. He was only 21. I was devastated, for Brett was one of the most genuinely good-hearted people I’ve ever known.
Soon after, I dreamed about him. It was one of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had and I’ll never forget it. I was sitting alone in my math classroom when Brett walked in. I knew he had died, but wasn’t surprised to see him. He came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. “Everything’s going to be okay,” was all he said, and then he turned and walked back out the door, leaving me with an amazingly peaceful feeling.
Maybe they were dreams of mere coincidence, but I’d like to think otherwise. I’m not a religious person, but I do believe in spirits and souls. There is a chance that Benny and Brett were trying to tell me something, or maybe my subconscious spoke for them. Either way, although I miss them both terribly, I’m comforted knowing that parts of them will live on through the people who loved them.
Brett, I will never use a diphthong, and I’ll always sing from my diaphragm.
Benny, “oh-ho!” and cue the duck, you King of Cool.
