We had the death of a long time member of the family auto fleet this week. Not that we have a plethera of autos, but this particular one has been in the family for 13 years. This is what happens when you hold onto your cars for years and years-they represent the passage of time and the events that go with it. I had my very first real car in 1989-it was a 1988 toyota camry. I loved that car and drove it until the rust took over and reached 250,000 miles.
This week, our 1997 toyota 4runner has been sent to car heaven. Andrew rolled it a 360 and fortunately was ok. It held him in place. We have had that car for 13 years. I drove it when I was pregnant with Maddie. It took us to all our family vacations to the outer banks. Andrew was delivered to college for the very first time, where I promptly drove to my best friend marcia's to cry, eat chocolate, and drink wine.
We've hauled wood, new furniture, old furniture, my grandfather clock to try and have it fixed, and beach chairs. Andrew learned how to drive with that car. And my only accident ever was in the 4runner. I was driving my mother in law up to stay with us when a woman crossed over in my path and I hit her. Alan had a problem with a tractor trailer, that decided the make a left turn and run over the car. Forunately, no one was hurt. And it seems the good karma that truck gave us lasted to the bitter end-as Andrew walked away with nothing more than a bruise and sore wrist.
It's difficult not to be a bit sad to see them go.
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