Goodbye, Faithful

Yesterday I cleaned out my old car, and said good-bye. I really wished I had my camera with me so I could take some memory pictures, but I didn't have it. Don't know if you ever forget what a crashed vehicle looks like once you crawl out of it anyway, really. It was harder than I expected to say goodbye.

There was a lot more stuff in my car than I expected, too. And I kept remembering just one more little hidden pocket of STUFF that needed to be cleaned out before I was really done. I realized as I was driving away that I've had that particular vehicle during the toughest and longest transition of my life. That it was my go-to resource during that time period. That car always worked. Whatever I needed always fit into it. I could be alone when I drove it, and anything I put inside would still be there when I came back. That car always got me where I was going, and it didn't aggravate my old injuries on the way. I always felt safe in it, and I used it to escape-- often.

I first purchased her while my then-husband was deployed in Iraq. I got tired of being stuck at home every time it snowed, so my new car had AWD among the other things it gave me. I also bought it at a time when I was finally coming to the realization that my marriage was never going to get better, and that once he came home safely, I was probably going to say goodbye. For both our sakes. I had a lot of emotional conversations with friends while driving her, since I couldn't talk on the phone much when my then-husband was home. Some of those same friends packed her to the hilt-- twice-- during the three hours I had to move out of my soon-to-be-ex's apartment when the time finally came to go.

She moved me from there to a friend's spare room, from there to another state, and into three different apartments in the year after my marriage ended. I was sitting in the driver's seat when I got my acceptance letter for the MLS program I wanted, and I drove her to that horrid job at the office for the criminally insane. After that, I drove her back and forth (an hour each way) to my subsequent nanny job-- for a year while I finished school.

The strange, poetic, full-circle part of it all is that my ex just made his final alimony payment ever last month, and I just graduated from school so I can have a career and support myself independently this month... I'm finally starting the next phase of my life. The transition from married to me is basically over. Finally. My car helped me through the whole get-independent process, start to finish. And within a few days of that process ending, my get-through-it car ended, too.

I guess it's a graduation of sorts. No more crutches. No more dependencies and old habits. No more reminders of my past life. No more reliable blue car with the "not interested" bumper sticker and the big red frog on the back. That still hurts to think about, though. No more Army stickers and pit-bull nose-prints in the windows. No more maps for all the military towns we lived in, either. No more reminders of all the things I didn't accomplish during my marriage.

Maybe this isn't dread in my tummy. ...maybe it's PMS... Or maybe it's just an empty spot where the past used to be. You never know. PMS can do some pretty drastic things to your tummy, let me tell you! Maybe I just need to give myself time to grieve the dreams and crutches (and the car) that I lost-- and remember all the great hopes and possibilities and personal goals I've replaced them with. My life now is so much better and brighter than I could ever have imagined it to be three or four years ago-- back when my transition to independence started.

I have friends who love my art, and don't care who I talk to on the phone. I have friends (well, one, anyway) who get as excited as I do over Pirate Music, and nobody in my new life uses my quirks as an excuse to put me down. I have friends to laugh with, friends to cry with, and I have places in my life where it's okay to enjoy being alone. I can watch Banger Sisters for the 37th time, and nobody comments on how well Goldie Hawn's boobs have held up over the years. Nobody gets mad at me for wanting to see a movie that many times, plus one more. Nobody gets bored half-way through and leaves to go play video games instead of cuddling with me on the sofa.

I can put yeast on my popcorn, and ice cream in the freezer. I can eat nacho chips and baked garlic on toast, with brie and basil on the side. I can sing silly children's songs and stand on one foot while I do the dishes (old habit, don't ask). I can get the urge to blog about the dread in my tummy at midnight, and jump out of bed to do it, knowing I'm not going to be waken at 4am to help find somebody else's special bullet-proof glasses. And two matching boot-top twisties. And to frantically sew the new patches on the other side of their only clean BDU shirt-- at JUST THE RIGHT ANGLE-- before my alarm goes off at 7am-- because he was too lazy to do it himself the night before.

I don't feel guilty every time I park under the covered parking, and every time I go out to lunch with a friend. Nobody makes me feel stupid for wanting safety bars in the windows and that extra lock mechanism on the front door. Nobody tells me what to wear (tho I'm really glad some of my friends are willing to give me opinions when I ask-- I admit to needing help from time to time), and I actually like coming home at night. To my home.

It's a good life. And very different from the one I used to live. With all the distance driving I do, and the limited amount of buying big stuff, no dog, and not too many friends without cars these days either-- the things I need in a vehicle have changed. I guess it makes sense that the vehicle itself might change, too. Now, I just have to get used to driving it. Darn.