The Journey of a Goodbye
I woke up this morning, not really wanting to get out of the bed. Although I have had plenty of do-nothing Saturdays over the course of our summer break, I knew this one was the start of my new routine; at least for the next four months. Classes will be back in on Monday, and just like that, my days will be filled with teaching, research, serving on committees, and sitting in various meetings. And my nights and weekends will be consumed with grading, responding to student email, prepping for the next class, and writing papers.
So with that, I reluctantly got dressed, and headed out the door for my errands, which included a stop at the local Farmer’s Market and a half-day plan to be in my office finishing up some school stuff. As the garage door lifted, even as the sun hit my eyes, I suddenly saw the world in a different space. In that one moment, I immediately noticed something was different. Something I knew, but had momentarily forgotten.
For the first time in over two years, my green 2002 Subaru Forester was not sitting in my driveway!
Two years ago, May 2016, I bought a Toyota RAV4. I kept my Forester, but with over 220,000 miles on it, I no longer trusted it to carry me the multiple 1,000-mile round trips each year that typically accompanied my summers and holidays back home in Such Carolina visiting family and friends. The decision to purchase was somewhat of a knee jerk response after over a year of contemplation.
From 2015 to 2016, I had to do so much work on my car that it didn’t seem cost effective to continue prolonging its life to keep it in full-time service for my needs. Hanging on to it, rather than trading it in, I’d convinced myself that I would drive both vehicles; the Subaru back and forth to work, which with my recent move at the time, was only eight miles one way. And then use the RAV4 for the longer trips, and even back and forth to church in Nashville now that I lived almost 40 miles one-way from there.
It was just a matter of months before I realized that I gravitated towards whichever car was in the garage when I stepped out, and 99 percent of the time that was always the Toyota. Before I knew it, the Subaru’s registration was due and I had to make a decision.
But I didn’t.
Even though I wasn’t driving the car anymore, something kept me from selling it. I tried to deny the real reason why the days were turning into weeks which turned in to months. Before long a year had passed, and then a second one. Seeing my car — sitting in its spot as I left for the day, or being the first thing I saw as I turned the corner on my street home — felt comforting. It was familiar; something that had been a constant with me for most of my 20 plus year time in Nashville. And even though I forced it to sit outside and endure the long hot southern summers, and be abused by the beating rains of thunderstorms and occasional hail — something it had previously never seen, due to me having had a carport at one house, and garages at my other two homes — whenever the garage door went up at this house, I knew it would be there. I would see it out of my rearview mirror, and avoid getting too close as I backed up to head my way.
Over the past two years I thought often about everything I’d been through with my Foresters. I thought of the times I’d driven my mother around running errands with me while I was visiting, or the times she rode back to Nashville with me, spending an additional week or two of time together. In the winter months, her favorite part was the heated front seats, which helped to keep her warmer than even the heat blasting through the car. She was always cold, and the seats were the best way to warm her up fast.
I thought about the many times when I piled my younger niece and nephews in there and went for drives; sometimes to nowhere in particular, just time away to give my sisters a small break. And all of the road trips back and forth home and beyond. I drove it down to Alabama for Christmas at one sister’s house. And I drove back there a year later to one niece’s high school graduation; then years later, up to Virginia, two different years, for two other nieces’ high school and college graduations. There were family trips to Six Flags, Thanksgiving in Panama City Beach, and several drives to my sister’s condo in Myrtle Beach!
That Subaru hadn’t just been good to me. But it carried a lot of great memories for me!
But this month, I finally let go, and decided to stop prolonging my decision. I sold my Subaru at 5:30 p.m. central time on Friday, August 24. That’s the approximate time I signed the back of the title over to its new owners; took the money, and was forced to say goodbye.
It might seem like just an inanimate object; something you wouldn’t think about grieving over. But when I rolled out of the garage this morning, and didn’t see my car of almost 17 years parked in my driveway…my heart sank. The reality of what I had done hit me. Memories started flooding my brain, and then a sadness came over me.
Sure, I have pictures. And my brain still holds the many memories — good, bad, and maybe even some ugly ones. But gone was the reality; the physical connection of all that had happened since that late October night in 2001, when I made the decision to drive that car off the lot; something I never regretted the entire time I owned it. Back then was a time when mom and dad were still here; my nieces and nephews still wanted to do things together; and siblings and friends shared rides to church, the movies, or out to eat.
My Subaru Forester had taken me many places — from weddings and baby showers; to family vacations and funerals — holding years of memories; places visited, conversations had; people carried about.
Looking out over my now empty driveway. I’m trying to let go, while desperately hanging on to the memories of the experiences my favorite car holds for me.
Gloria’s 2002 Subaru Forester, October 2001-August 2018
