Saturday, December 17, 2011

Oh Tannenbaum


I called my friend and laughed harder than I have laughed in weeks. We did our usual schtick and talked about a myriad of topics from fun to completely gross. One topic that came up was about my car I have owned for the past ten years, it's a Ford mini van. I was a rolling cliche. Mike and I had bought the car after my other car was on it's death bed. The mini van was a wedding gift to the family. We had just gotten married and the kids were young and into everything. There was baseball practice, soccer practice, roller skating parties, ski trips, football, band practice and girl scouts to name only a few. With four very diverse children, I never knew on any certain day where my beast of a car would have to go. It contained me, the two dogs and the four kids while we drove around in a foot of snow when we were selling our house to move to Houston. With the heat blasting I drove along slick roads to allow time for the potential buyers to make up their minds.
My van was there to drive kids to college, teach them to drive, move us from our family home to the apartment and take kids to their jobs. It kept my son safe when he was in a hit and run causing him to skid off the road onto a curb slamming the tires into the concrete. It had kept us safe during hurricanes, torrential down pours and droughts. My car took my beloved dog to the hospital when she got sick and needed emergency care. It housed my animals once again while buyers perused the next house as we packed up and moved out. So very many times my van, my girl, kept us safe and sound during our travels.
Old Bessie died recently. She had gone from Cleveland Ohio to Houston Texas and could go no more. On her last trip she gracefully gave way in a parking lot, keeping my son off the road and into safety.
I know she is just a car. I know she is an inanimate object with no feelings or heart, but there are so many memories in that old car, it's hard for me not to take this personally. Emails and calls have been put out to have someone come and get her to drag her off to the junk yard. The St. Christopher medal that hung on the rear view mirror has been taken down. I got that medal from a patient who worried about me when I worked in the inner city on the 3-11 shift. My patient said to me one day, "Take this and put it into your car. It will keep you safe. Oh, and don't stop at the stop lights, it's dangerous on these streets at night." I took her advice on both counts putting the medal in my then car and not always stopping because I knew it was smart to be a little afraid. Since she gave me the medal I have always put it into the car I owned. I will now put it into my newest car.
We bought a car from a friend that is older, but brand new to me. Betty called it my new old car.
I told my friend how much I will miss my old car, and the memories it contains. We laughed about what Betty calls my new car when my friend said, "Oh, it's like what we used to say about our Christmas trees, they were real live dead trees." That made laugh. My newest car is my real live dead tree. Mike and I have always named certain objects in our lives. It's kind of a goober thing to do, but it always makes us giggle. I told him I will be naming my new old car Tannenbaum after what my friend had said. It's appropriate since we got it right before Christmas.
I will miss my mini van. Letting it go now is one more thing I will do that pushes me forward out of Mom mode. That van drove our children around when they were young. Most now have their own cars and have no need to ride in a seven seater. It's another step into my new role of mother of adult kids. It's not a bad role, but as a mother, I remember what it was like to see our kids when they were younger, smaller and needed us so much more, so it is a little bitter sweet.
Old Bessie did well by us living out her existence in service to our kids. She will be put to rest and used for parts to hopefully serve some other family as they wheel their way around town.

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