Saying Goodbye to a Car

I'm sitting on my back deck on Sunday morning, listening to Lucinda Williams and enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet before I head down to spend some time with my mom at NHC Place.

Jude and the boys have been in Chattanooga since Friday.  I spoke at a CLE event late Friday, so I couldn't leave when they did.  Truth be told, I needed some alone time to gather my thoughts and recharge my batteries and Jude was kind enough to understand.  So, I stayed here and spent some time alone.

I've had my mom's car - a light blue Honda CRV - for a month or two.  It was sitting in her driveway - obviously not being driven - and we needed an extra car for a few days while Jude was having some body work done on her Honda Pilot.  Once I got it up here, I started driving it a little bit around the neighborhood.  I even drove it exclusively for a few days while my truck was in the shop.  I've had it washed and detailed a couple of times which, for some reason, made me feel good.

I helped my mom purchase the Honda CRV a few years ago by talking to the general manager of the dealership.  He is very close friends with a attorney friend of mine.  They took care of my mom when she bought it and I was happy to help her, of course.

Tracy's son, Matthew, recently turned 16, got his drivers' license and needs a car to drive.  Tracy and Gary wanted to buy it from mom, but I wouldn't hear of that.  I want Matthew to have it and it makes not sense for them to pay for it, particularly after all that Tracy has done and continues to do for my mom.  Most importantly, my mom would want Matthew to have the car and wouldn't hear of Tracy and Gary paying her for it.

The last couple of days, when it hit home that I wouldn't be driving the Honda CRV any longer and that it wouldn't be parked in front of my house, I've been a little sad.  Strange, I know, but driving it has made me feel closer to my mom.  Closer, really, to the person she used to be, before Alzheimer's disease and other complications kidnapped her from us.

There are vestiges of my mom and earlier, happier days, inside the Honda CRV.  There's still a booster seat left over from when she used to occasionally keep J.P. for us.  She often drove him down the street from her house to the Brentwood Public Library.  That stopped, I guess, about the time he turned five years old.  I don't recall her ever keeping Joe on her own.

Although I've cleaned it out for the most part, there are still a few Wintergreen Lifesavers in the car.  My mom always had those in her purse, probably to keep her from giving in to the desire to smoke.  She quit smoking more than two decades ago.  There is loose change which, at some point, my mom handled when she could still make change.  I found a few handouts from an old Sunday school class she attended.

I'm happy for Matthew to have mom's car.  I remember what it was like when I got my first car, a 1966 Ford Mustang, also light blue.  It was one of the greatest moments of my life.  That Mustang represented so much to me.  Freedom.  Responsibility.  Leaving childhood behind.  Fun.  Work.  Promise.  Independence, most of all.  I'll never, ever forget my 1966 Ford Mustang and all that it symbolized for me.

On the other hand, though, it makes me sad to close another chapter of my mom's life.  And to know I won't be able to open that chapter again.  It's gone, forever lost except in my memory.

Damn, this is hard.  Hard and hopeless.