A car is just a car – until it isn’t. For me my car isn’t just a sign of my freedom and independence but it holds so much more meaning than that. I don’t tend to get sentimental towards objects very often, I’m not a horder and once something has lived it’s life or run it’s course i’m happy to find a new home for it – thats why quite a lot of our things end up in a charity shop. In all honesty, I don’t “own” many things that are just for me – everything in our house has a purpose unless it’s something nerdy which is mostly Lukes. Although I won’t lie that I take just as much pleasure in gaming and collecting Lego as Luke does.
The things I am attached to usually have a special thought to them. Just like my car. My car was purchased 2 months after finding out I was pregnant. My little peugeot would have never made it as a family car so we decided to get something that would become our family car. We would be a family after all. My car was perfect; a good sized boot, easy to drive and plenty of room for the 2-3 children we’d have snuggled into the back seat. I’d had it all planned out in my head.
However, as most of you will probably know, that didn’t happen. Our family car didn’t get to bring our little bundle of joy home until a few more years later. That car is the first thing we purchased and as hard as it became to drive after Jason died, it also brought me so much comfort knowing everything we did meant my pregnancy was real and it happened.
Lately, things have started going wrong with my little Speedy. I’ve spent more than half a months wage on it since March and something else is wrong with it. So this morning I drove it for the last time and sold it. I’m really sad that a car that has seen me through so much is gone.
Goodbye Speedy
Mothering A Rainbow 