We lost a
family member today.
Our tried
and true decade old Nissan Altima went “the way of all flesh.” Well, that last
word may be a misnomer. As I was driving our fire engine red four door sedan this
past Friday, it “decided” to do something singularly uncharacteristic. The
engine sputtered several times over the course of a couple of miles, and
suddenly died right there in front of God and everyone. Of course, I called
Triple A, and had “Old Betsy” towed to the dealer for mechanical analysis. And
as we were to discover, the radiator had sustained a significant crack in its
frame; leading to the imminent destruction of other crucial systems. Since we
had recently invested a significant sum in the old car, it was now a foregone
conclusion that the expense of repairing our family member was unthinkable. It
was time to let go, and let God.
Human beings
tend to personalize their vehicles, give them names, and use the pronouns “she”
and “her” when speaking of these inanimate objects; not unlike the courtesies
extended towards our pets. And with time it is not unusual to think of one’s
sedan, or van or SUV as a member of the family.
Funny, when
our daughter dropped us off at the car dealer today, and I noticed our old
Altima parked just outside the shop walls, a twinge of guilt ran through me, as
if somehow we were disconnecting the old girl’s life support, and allowing her
to go on to her reward. (Whether by salvage or auction, I know not).
Today was
the day to say “goodbye” to an aged grandmother, and today was the day to say “hello”
to her replacement; in essence, a proverbial new bride, as young and beautiful
as ever the former laid claim.
And we took
time to clean out what remained of those sundry items, such as folding chairs
and paperback novels and extra sunglasses, so as to leave nothing of ourselves behind.
And in so doing, it was almost as if we were severing the final vestiges of
what had once been such a visceral connection.
And as I
knew I must do, I left her empty and undone, yet not without a parting word. For
it was then that I laid my hand on the dashboard, and spoke a few emotion-clad
words; not unlike touching the bier of a friend, and offering up a heartfelt
eulogy.
“Old Girl,
you were a dependable friend. While it’s time to let you go, we will never
forget you. Rest in Peace, dear Betsy.”
And in
response to my sincerest farewell, only abject silence, and a sense that her soul
had departed;
… leaving
little more intact than rusting metal, and fading leather.
No comments:
Post a Comment