Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I sold my car yesterday. Long story short, with a kid in college, I can't afford to own a car anymore. While I was waiting for the tow truck to arrive, I went through the glove box and looked under the seats, putting the things that belonged to my son and I in a Trader Joe's shopping bag. Then I got out of the car and walked around to the trunk so I could retrieve our belongings from there as well. As soon as I opened the trunk I felt really sad.
I saw the pink, mud-stained folding chair that sat along the sidelines of hundreds of lacrosse games; the huge umbrella that I sometimes had to hide under during those games; and the stray lacrosse balls--tiny trophies from various away games. I remembered the first time I drove my son and his teammates to practice in it. They were so excited. They loved the car. It was roomy and comfortable and lots of them could fit inside it. And I loved driving them in it. I loved watching them play lacrosse. I loved cheering for them. I loved being a lacrosse mom. It never occurred to me that I loved that car too. It was the car that took my son and I everywhere we wanted to go while he was in high school. The memories attached to that car are so special to me.
It was noon on a Tuesday and I didn't want the tow truck driver (or my neighbors) to think I was mentally unstable, so I pushed those thoughts out of my head, promising myself that if I really wanted to or needed to, I could have a good cry once the car was gone and I had returned to the privacy of my apartment. I didn't want to, but I needed to cry, so I did for a little bit. A day later, I'm still kind of blue about it.
Photo by Pete Zarria