You have to understand. I am cut out of the same cloth as my Dad. From our sense of humor, to our looks, to our flexibility, to the fact that we both hate change.
We also have the same problem. We both get emotionally attached to certain things, and hate to see them go. I will never forget the time my Mom bought a new front door for their house. My tough, police officer Dad was devastated. He moped. He fought it. It took him a good month to embrace the beautiful, new door. His reason for being so sad? He would tell my Mom, “I walked all 4 of my kids in front of that door. I watched all four of my kids play outside of that door.”
To him, that door had emotion attached to it. He associated that door with our childhoods. He loved that door because of the memories it symbolized.
As I stood outside today in the pouring rain in tears, as the man from the Ford dealership drove my car away for the last time, I felt ridiculous.
But then I realized that car to me was the same as the door was to my Dad.
We have been through a lot together. It was the vehicle I had when I first got sick. It drove me to the Cleveland Clinic, Cincinnati, Fort Wayne, Angola, South Bend, Toledo, and all over Michigan multiple times in search of answers…Once I had answers, it drove me miles and miles in search of treatments. That car was literally a crucial factor in learning how to live my life with EDS and POTS. It was crucial in getting to point of functioning again. That car drove me to work the first day I was allowed back. It has been a vehicle of many laughs, many tears, many challenges, and many victories.
I would be remiss if I did not mention the back seat. That back seat was a life saver on several occasions. It was always there when I was sick, or in pain and needed a comfortable place to lie down.
Although I often referred to it as my “sick car,” I really loved it and everything it came to represent.
But, today I had to say goodbye.
Starting tomorrow I will drive my loaner car from the dealership until my new Escape arrives.
And when that car arrives, I will embrace it and pray that it will become what is known as my “healthy car.”
So, at the risk of sounding even more ridiculous, I will leave it at this:
Here’s to my old “sick” car, my new “healthy” car, and always, always, ALWAYS enjoying the ride.
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