Goodbye to Another Old Friend

 Nope - no one died.  This time, it's a car.  The Honda.  "The" Honda.  "The" as a title of respect, especially after we got new new Honda.

Time for more therapy writing - because sometimes I wonder why *everything* has to hurt so much.  Seriously - it's a car.  So why do I feel kicked in the gut?  I want to double over and cry (and likely will when I'm through writing)

Some people love getting new cars, and going car shopping.  I can't even count how many cars Amanda and Robert have gotten in the last 5 years.  I can count how many Bob and I got in the last 50 - ten.  And one of those (my Dad's car) was given to us.   We'd drive cars until they get to the point that it would cost more to keep them safe than their blue book value, then heave a heavy sigh and go car shopping.  So, in 2001, when our Ford Explorer was falling apart, we went shopping.

We wanted something smallish.  I prefer small cars - easier to maneuver, a lot easier to park.  And Bob sure as hell didn't need a "compensation" car.  We wanted something he could fit into comfortably, that had decent leg room for the back seats, and that could hold a half-dozen cat carriers.  We picked the Honda CR-V.  There were a few color choices - mostly normal ones, and one that was an almost luminous, almost purple blue.  We both looked around, looked at our feet, acted a little embarrassed, and at the same time muttered "I like the blue one."

It's been a great car.  It's still a great car.  220,000 miles and change and we have not driven it into the ground.    But tomorrow it's going away.

After Bob got diagnosed, we had to make a lot of plans fast.  Do things like buy my battery weed whacker because, at least for a while, the yard would be my bailiwick.  Then we talked about the car.  Reliable as it was, it was 18 years old and over 200,000 miles.  We knew that we'd be making a lot of those 3-hour drives back and forth to Gainesville and, more importantly, while he was in recovery I'd be doing a lot of those drives alone.   We decided that we needed something newer and safer.

But we didn't trade in The Honda.  When my father had quit driving, he had given us his Infiniti - a luxury car.  Surprise - we didn't like it that much.  Bob was comfortable in it, but I wasn't (especially the passenger side - no lumber support at all.  I had to buy a backrest).  A luxury cars are high maintenance, and expensive maintenance at that.  So the Infiniti got traded in on a Honda Fit.  Again - bright blue.  I was actually going to try for another color (5 of the previous cars had been blue) but the choice for the end-of-the-year-sale was blue or white.

The Fit is a great little car - and I came to resent the hell out of it.  It was the car we bought because of Bob's leukemia.  It was the car that never brought him home from Gainesville.  I came home, parked it, and went back to driving The Honda.  But after 6-8 months, I started to think I was being silly.  The Fit was new, possibly safer, got 20 miles more per gallon than The Honda.  I started driving it to work.  For another year I used The Honda for the bi-weekly trash run, but eventually used the Fit even for that.   I've hardly driven it at all for the last year.

It does need some work.  There's an airbag recall.  The driver side window doesn't work.  Once the passenger side door didn't want to open.  What can you expect from an old car?  So I've decided to donate it to the local radio station (I didn't feel like bargaining with some stranger over my car so I opted for donation and a tax deduction).  It gets picked up tomorrow.  I've washed it and cleaned it out.

And it's tearing me up.  As I've written before, Bob and I mostly carpooled.  200,000+ miles is a lot of hours spent together in a small car.  The daily commute, grocery shopping.  Trips to the vet.  Mad dashes to emergency rooms and hospitals while the parents were alive.  Roadtrips.  A lot of conversations.  A lot of listening to the radio.  Despite its compact size, we even fooled around in it a couple of times because that's what you do, right? 200,000 miles of life, of companionship.

If Bob hadn't gotten sick, The Honda would likely still be the car we were driving.  But he did, and it's not.   And it really isn't logical to let it sit in the carport and rot just because I'm sentimental.

So, yeah.  Yay therapy writing.  It's not about the car.  It's about the life that I had with that car.  The Fit is my new life.  The Honda was my old life.  The life that I miss so desperately.

I hope it doesn't sell for parts, or scrap metal.  It still runs fine.  I hope someone buys it and puts another 100,000 miles on it and sings along to the radio with someone they love.  I hope there are still more happy memories to put into that car.

Gonna miss it.

Postscript:  Last night I kept looking out the window at The Honda.  I finally did something that I haven't done for almost 2 1/2 years:  I went and sat in the passenger seat. Where I have sat for over 200,000 miles with Bob driving.  After all that, I could almost see, touch, and hear him sitting there.  So very real, so very present, so out of reach.  I wept for an hour.

So I thought I was done.  Nope.  They came and got it today.  As they drove off I had to go lie down, clutch my pillow as hard as I could, and howl.  I know it's not the car, but the driver.  I watched it go down the driveway knowing that it will never come up that drive again and Bob get out of it.

I could have kept it.  But I've been feeling bad about it.  Even under the carport, it was getting covered with dust and pollen.  If I opened the door, there was the start of mildew.  I went to start it one time and the battery had died (I recharged it).  I could have kept it for the trash run car, but why?   It deserves better.