Another Goodbye

It's always difficult to say goodbye to a loved one, whether they've died, moved out, or just leaving for a short time. And while it's most difficult to let go of someone, it can be challenging to let go of some thing, such as a car.

But this isn't any old car. Well, it's old. But this car carries with it many years of memories, and for me, it's a part of my late husband. It's his 1971 Oldsmobile 442. A classic car by any definition. The muscle car of muscle cars. The kind of car that makes heads turn and compells strangers to stop and talk about the car, their car, old cars and other stories. It's more than a piece of metal with an engine. It's a conversation piece, a toy, and a triumph. But it only sits in our garage taking up valuable space. I know. Shameful of me to speak this way of this piece of mechanical history. But it's true. My present husband and I had every intention of fixin' 'er up. But this requires money, knowledge and time. We have time, but not so much of the other two.

My present husband, Brad, had dreamed of tinkering with a muscle car again. Back in his younger days he and his brother took apart and refurbished old cars. But that was ages ago, and his knowledge of cars has dissipated into ether. He purchased a book or two to help, but the desire isn't what it once was. We had talked about rebuilding the car and taking it to car shows, big and small, and just having a fun car to drive around in on warm Sundays. And it was an investment. The car has increased in value over the years because of its rarity and Oldsmobile being phased out as a manufacturer. This rocket on four wheels was also going to contribute to our retirement. It was a great dream, and we had fun with it.

The part that is most difficult is letting go of my late husband. I mainly held on to this steel beauty for the memories. It was a big part of Mark's life. He viewed it like a child of his own, since he couldn't have any children of his own. He shared stories with me of when he first had it and how he would drag with other muscle cars in the neighborhood, and he would usually win these little races. He purchased the car from an elderly woman, a blue haired woman who was also a retired schoolteacher. She was the original owner. I wonder what possessed her to purchase such a car?

As we get closer to selling it, I find myself becoming more emotional and even grieving about it. It's almost like losing Mark again. I sat in the car the other day and imagined Mark driving it; shifting the gears, opening the windows, blasting the 8 track player with his favorite Badfinger songs, and just burning rubber. I caress the leather seats, adjust the rear view mirror and grip the steering wheel. I think about him and how happy he was when he drove the 442. I can picture him laughing and singing along with the stereo. And when he comes home he gently pulls his baby into the garage and then covers her with her blue blanket.

It's been five years since he died, but some days I can feel him and see him in my mind so clearly, as if it was yesterday. Slowly I've been sorting through his things, keeping what mattered most to me. But now it's time to let go of his baby, his 442. It will be like losing him all over again, but it will also be somewhat carthartic, too. But only on one condition will I sell it, the new owner must enjoy it and love it like he did.