When John gave me this car I couldn't believe it, me getting this black beauty, me once the owner of a Ranger pickup now an owner of a Crown Vic. What was he thinking? Then I slid into the seat, I could live with this. Fit like a glove. But did I like it too much, what was this lump in my throat for?
I've had time to think it over it's not what the car means to me it is what it did for me. About a year later my mother took her final journey, one she feared the most, going to a nursing home. I made a commitment to go once a week and spend time with here.
She was two and a half hours away and so I would leave early in the morning, the process was the same, my trip started with Big and Rich, a funky country group that I always tried to sing along with. Followed by a soother CD that would take me into the nursing home.
The visit would be anywhere from a hour to four, you never knew because of the sadness she was experiencing, or how she felt. But the trip home was different. As I slipped into the seat and clipped the seat belt into place the first tear would start. Rolling down my cheek and resting on my chin. As I left town I was free to cry. Safe in my car, Cruise control set, radio off and left with only my thoughts from my visit, I cried till I couldn't cry anymore.
That's what it is, I have a bond with the car, it protected me at my saddest time. It comforted me with it's smooth ride, it comforting interior but mostly with the privacy I needed. Thursday when I slipped into the seat of the Taurus I prayed it would not have to comfort me but get me from one place and back. Just that and no more.
I feel good about letting go, it's time.