But there are things that I’ve clung to.
We’ve sold my thirteen year old Nissan Pathfinder. I love that car. I will miss it. See that? That’s where I rear ended someone and got an OUI some six years ago now. And over there, that dent? A year and a half has gone by now since that happened and each time I think about it, I try to get a little more “life is short” into me. It was frigid cold, but sunny winter day in January 2009. I had just dropped Nola off and was late for work, taking a road that I hate taking, getting stuck behind people going really slow and driving up my aggravation. I passed a car, then another. The road crowns to allow for runoff and the ice had become pitted and grooved. The sun was melting that top layer and it became really slick. I crested a hill and before I knew what was really happening, I was spinning and traveling down the hill, in the opposite lane, backwards. Whoosh! A relatively soft rear end landing in a snow bank, but when I managed to get out of the car, I found that not only had I taken out a mailbox, I had come within inches of hitting a woman who was shoveling the end of her driveway while waiting for the bus to come for her grandson, who stood just a few feet behind her. She showed me her footprint in the snow where she had stood. Two or three inches away: my tire tracks. I could have killed her. I could have crippled her. Thankfully, I only dented the fenders and plowed down her mailbox. My insurance covered the cost of the mailbox and post, and we did the best we could to have the fender repaired enough to get it through inspection for another year. Each time I think about that accident, I think about how close it was and I shiver with that feeling of “what if . . “
When I became the owner of that car, my life was incredibly different. I was married to a man who I believe had been having an affair, if not of a physical nature, surely an emotional one. Not that I had been entirely faithful during our marriage, but when we bought that car together, trading in another one, it was a renewed commitment to each other as well. We became the owners of it in early 1998, buying it new off the lot from the dealer, with an odometer reading of 1. That year, 1998, would prove pivotal for us, first discovering we were expecting a baby, then losing that baby. He rushed me to the hospital for emergency surgery to remove the life trapped in my right fallopian tube. The seats reclined to offer comfort on the way home to recover. Back and forth to the health center we drove in that car as we learned about and pursued fertility treatment, then the trip to have eggs removed and another trip to transplant the embryos. Again we had the reclining seat on the way home, as it was advised to be as still as possible for the days afterwards. I recall staring through the windshield of that car at the sign that my husband and father had posted on the garage door for me, my sisters, and mother when we returned from our annual shopping trip to Freeport the day after thanksgiving: Welcome home Mommy. The hospital had called with the pregnancy test results and that day I found out I was pregnant. I was driven in that car to the hospital near midnight on August 1st, 1999. Our daughter had her first car ride in that car, home from the hospital. I sat in the back seat with her. Many rides she would have in that car. Many drinks spilled and snacks dropped. We had six dogs in that car when we moved to Maine. Their wirey hair still sticks to the back of the seats. We were so optimistic then, moving back to Maine with our infant daughter, close to my parents and family, starting up a new business in a new town. I took many long drives by the ocean in attempts to get away as the business strained our marriage. I parked at the beaches and looked out over the waves. I started driving around with a tumbler full of wine or vodka and lemonade. I did a lot of drunk driving in that car. I have to admit that. I was fortunate that I had only one OUI, after rear ending someone. See the front fender and grill? That’s where I hit the other car. I never got it fixed, didn’t report it to the insurance company. At that point in my life, things were spiraling out of control and continued to get worse. A few months after that accident, I lost my license for a year. The car sat parked for the whole time. It was neglected while I neglected myself. When I started driving that car again, I was stuck in a pattern of sobriety and relapse. I drove that car to pick up my daughter on the day I hit my bottom. I drove drunk to pick up my daughter at school and wasn’t allowed to take her, thankfully. The car stayed at her school until I was released from the hospital. I took a cab to pick it up, late in the night. I drove to the hotel I was staying at and called Joe. I called to surrender. I called to say I couldn’t do it alone and needed help. The next day, he drove the two and a half hours to come get me. We drove to Bangor and I moved in with him. That car has been parked next to his ever since.
Over the past 4 ½ years since then, that car has been cleaned and cared for. It got serviced when it was supposed to and fixed when it needed to. It carried groceries home, my daughter to school, and yard debris to the dump. It carried a lot of our belongings from the apartment we rented to the house we bought. It was my guardian on snowy days, trying to get home from work, biting down in four wheel drive and keeping me on the road.
In many ways, the life of that vehicle parallels my own. The good times and the bad times. The memories of my life in the past thirteen years show that car parked in the background, often waiting to take me to the next place. Short trips, long trips, big moves and small ones. Selling it is like selling some of my history. My recovery needs to move forward and change is a good thing. The dents and burns and dings reminded me on a daily basis of mistakes I made. Sometimes it is good to be reminded and other times it casts a negative shadow over your accomplishments.
So, as I drove it last night, to meet the couple who bought it, these thoughts passed through my consciousness. The last time I grip the wheel, the last time I close the window and turn off the radio, the last time of so many that I close the rear gate and lock the door. Now this young family can take the car. We heard them squeal with excitement. Their baby slept in the car seat as they signed the bill of sale and handed me a check. I hope that they treat my car well and vice versa. I hope they have good experiences and create happy memories on the road. Let it move them and take them places they’ve never been. Let them wash and wax and care for it. Let their son spill his juice on the back seat and lose goldfish under the mats.
Give them all new life. Drive on. Don’t forget the past but look to the future.
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