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A New Kind of Grief
A few weeks ago, I was told by my trusted mechanic that my car was sick. So sick, in fact, that I needed to look for a new one, unless I was prepared to part with a couple thousand dollars.
But I love this car! How can I let her go and find a new one? This car has been with me for over 7 years! Do you know how much of life this car has been through with me? Tons! This car has been with me through three moves, all to different states, and through many of life's struggles, disappointments, and pain. Oh, don't get me wrong. There have been many good times. Those were days I'd get in, feel the comfort of just being together, put on some tunes, open the sunroof, and enjoy the fresh air and warm breezes together. Sometimes life felt so good and I enjoyed her presence and dependability so much that I would even reach up and pat the dashboard, speaking my appreciation to her.
Of course, she has a name, Snowflake, because she was white. As you've guessed by now from the use of past tense verbs, I had to let her go. She came to me as a youngster with only 89,000 miles. She was rarely sick, and when she became "terminal", she had matured to a proud 207,000 miles. That is probably the main reason that I decided it was time to say goodbye, instead of spending the few thousand dollars. I knew she was sick, but I loved her and thought she would pull through, as she always had.
Even though she was driveable, the excruciating decision was made to call - can I even say it? - salvage yards, ugh! and see how much I could get for her. How could I do that? Wasn't she worth far more than a few hundred dollars? She was a good listener, a dependable friend, a nonjudgmental companion. Surely she was worth more!
I drove her there, followed by a friend, who would give me a ride home. One of the people at "that place" offered to take my picture with her before I left. Great! I tried to smile as I leaned my arm onto her roof, caressing her for the last time. I didn't want to cry and appear disrespectful of her many kindnesses to me.
I got into the car to leave, not wanting to take my eyes off her. How could I leave her there? I felt like a bad mother abandoning a helpless child and wanted not to cry, but to sob uncontrollably until I got it all out. Was I crazy? As some of you know, I'm a funeral director, which means witnessing grief on a frequent basis, but was this also grief?
Yes, I was losing something very dear to me, but a car? Yes, a car, a friend, and the only one who had physically been with me during some of the toughest times of my life, and some of the happiest. So yes, cry if I must. Cry when I think of our friendship and miss her. And why not? A significant part of my life is gone and I grieve. And it's okay.
But I love this car! How can I let her go and find a new one? This car has been with me for over 7 years! Do you know how much of life this car has been through with me? Tons! This car has been with me through three moves, all to different states, and through many of life's struggles, disappointments, and pain. Oh, don't get me wrong. There have been many good times. Those were days I'd get in, feel the comfort of just being together, put on some tunes, open the sunroof, and enjoy the fresh air and warm breezes together. Sometimes life felt so good and I enjoyed her presence and dependability so much that I would even reach up and pat the dashboard, speaking my appreciation to her.
Of course, she has a name, Snowflake, because she was white. As you've guessed by now from the use of past tense verbs, I had to let her go. She came to me as a youngster with only 89,000 miles. She was rarely sick, and when she became "terminal", she had matured to a proud 207,000 miles. That is probably the main reason that I decided it was time to say goodbye, instead of spending the few thousand dollars. I knew she was sick, but I loved her and thought she would pull through, as she always had.
Even though she was driveable, the excruciating decision was made to call - can I even say it? - salvage yards, ugh! and see how much I could get for her. How could I do that? Wasn't she worth far more than a few hundred dollars? She was a good listener, a dependable friend, a nonjudgmental companion. Surely she was worth more!
I drove her there, followed by a friend, who would give me a ride home. One of the people at "that place" offered to take my picture with her before I left. Great! I tried to smile as I leaned my arm onto her roof, caressing her for the last time. I didn't want to cry and appear disrespectful of her many kindnesses to me.
I got into the car to leave, not wanting to take my eyes off her. How could I leave her there? I felt like a bad mother abandoning a helpless child and wanted not to cry, but to sob uncontrollably until I got it all out. Was I crazy? As some of you know, I'm a funeral director, which means witnessing grief on a frequent basis, but was this also grief?
Yes, I was losing something very dear to me, but a car? Yes, a car, a friend, and the only one who had physically been with me during some of the toughest times of my life, and some of the happiest. So yes, cry if I must. Cry when I think of our friendship and miss her. And why not? A significant part of my life is gone and I grieve. And it's okay.
Comment
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Comment by Paula Ann on March 12, 2009 at 11:34pm - I know how you feel. I wrecked my car on an icy bridge two days before Christmas. Didn't get it back for two months. I grieved for my own car, even though they gave me a Caddie for a loaner. No one seemed to understand that I wanted "my" car.
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