We lived in West Palm Beach, and Dad always said he’d travel when he retired. Not abroad – he wanted to see his own country. “Florida, then Georgia, then up north. Slowly, no rush. With stops in places where you just want to stay one more day.” He dreamed of simple things: sipping coffee at sunrise in a campground, sleeping in a trailer by the lake, fishing, and just watching the road go by.
We laughed, but he bought himself an RV. Not new, but solid. Silver, a bit outdated, but full of character. He fixed it up inside, added outlets, changed the mattress. In his first year of retirement, he made a few trips to visit friends in Vero Beach and back. But then his health started to slip – diabetes, high blood pressure, eventually surgery. The RV ended up parked in the backyard in West Palm Beach.
At first, Dad would say, “I’ll go again soon.” Then, “I need to replace the brakes.” Eventually, he stopped talking about trips altogether. Still, he washed it every month. Checked the tires. Sat inside reading the newspaper. It was his world. His road – even if it didn’t go anywhere.
After he passed, my brother and I didn’t touch the RV for a long time. As if moving it would betray his dream. But months passed. Then years. The roof began to leak, paint peeled off, the inside smelled of mildew, the batteries had long gone dead. It wasn’t a trailer anymore – just a fragile shell of hope that only held its shape.
We tried to find someone to take it. Asked the neighbors. Posted in forums. Placed ads: “Free RV – just tow it away”. No one showed up. One guy said, “This isn’t livable. It needs to be scrapped.”
I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt like I wasn’t throwing out a vehicle – I was throwing away his dream. But then I realized: if Dad dreamed of anything, it wasn’t of this RV rusting in our backyard. He dreamed of freedom. Not of decay and stillness.
I searched online for junk RV removal in West Palm Beach. Found RV Removal Pros. I liked that their site was straightforward – no flashy promises. I called. Explained the situation. The man on the line simply said, “We understand. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
They came in the afternoon. Worked carefully. Respectfully. No rush, no attitude. They disassembled the RV piece by piece, secured it with cables, and in just a couple of hours – it was gone. Only some flattened grass remained. And strangely, I felt lighter.
Sometimes an old camper removal service in West Palm Beach, FL isn’t just about getting rid of junk. It’s about saying goodbye. About letting go – but not forgetting. Dad’s dream didn’t disappear. It was with him – when he sat inside the trailer reading his newspaper. It was with us – while we tried to hold on to it. And now, it stays within us. Not in metal that stopped moving long ago.
And maybe that’s the most important thing: it’s a beautiful thing when a dream comes true. But even more powerful – is knowing how to let it go with gratitude, when it doesn’t. And to allow yourself to move forward. Without guilt. With warmth.
