So Long Old Faithful...

There has been much anticipation, calculated patience and great games of waiting but today  -FINALLY – after 2 years of decision-making – I handed in my RAV 4 for a nice new corporate car.

My RAV 4 was NOT In great shape.  Ravaged by years of post partum insomniac driving, late kindergarten arrivals to St Mary’s, long trips to Chatham and Toronto, a newborn, a toddler, a hairy dog that released his anal glands every time we arrived at a new destination, an intimate encounter with one yellow post, one deer and one flying wild turkey…this car has seen better days.

 “Um…. are any of the engine lights on?” the Toyota dealership asked as part of the appraisal process.  Yes.  All of them.  “Any current visible damages?”  Cracked windshield, multiple dents, rust corrosion on the back door from an unfixed accident.  “Non functional parts?”  Oooh just a few seatbelts and air bags…

They came back in from the inspection, despite being appropriately forewarned, professionally trying to stifle their laughter and offered me an amount that was purely based on pity.

Then there were the hoops – oh so many hoops.  A VIN and an RIN number.  A notarized piece of paper on my official corporate letterhead (which doesn't ACTUALLY exist) stating that I hereby allowed ME to apply for an RIN for ME.  Notarized, of course by someone who has enough digits behind their name to legitimately be able to verify that it was in fact ME allowing ME to apply for an RIN for ME.

Confused?

I will spare you further details.  Suffice it to say that what I thought might be an “OK! I’ve decided to buy THIS one!” turned into an agonizingly long process.  I even tried to shorten it by offering to take the model on the lot that we test drove.  “Sure!” they said, “Just do these 10 things first!” 

(All jokes aside, they were EXTREMELY helpful and efficient…but it’s just like when you have kind of had to pee for the past hour and then suddenly you find yourself legitimately  in FRONT of the toilet with the only barrier between you and comfort being the pants that you are wearing and suddenly you CANT WAIT the 5 seconds it takes you to undo your belt and button and lower them…)

I agree.

That was a weird example.

But you get my drift.

Despite all of this – TODAY WAS THE DAY!  I had it carefully planned out so that I could pick up my new vehicle after meeting #2 prior to meeting #3 and 4 with enough time for hospice rounding in between.  And, of course, a wee little intro joy ride with Rob and the kids somewhere in the middle.

“Did you have a name for the car?”  my Toyota dealer asked as he unceremoniously took the expired keys from my eager hands.

“Uh….NOPE!” I said, nonchalantly closing a chapter of my life in order to open the next one as quickly as possible.

I had time to admire the flawless, dentless, pristine car from a distance as I signed the myriad of papers.   I sat patiently through the hour-long tutorial on all of its new fangled systems.  I drove AND passenger-ed with the family on our tour to our friend’s houses and to a celebratory coffee at the Starbucks drive through (this IS still COVID times, don’t forget) and then I had a few solo trips to and from hospice and the hospital.

And so I sit here tonight, the long wait finally over, and I have but one emotion.

I miss my old car.

 The new one is clean and up-to-date and spotless.  But my old one had character.  It was the exact shade of blue that your grandmother would choose to colour her grey hair.  It still has paint remnants from the hospital posts and that CRAZY wild turkey that took it on at 100kmph on the highway to Wasaga.  There’s a red marker stain on the back right hand seat from Mia’s artistic prowess and a carpet stain on the other side from Toby’s carsickness.    The trunk is still speckled with Zack’s impermeable dog hairs.

It’s not often that life makes you stop and think about how far you’ve come in the span of a mere decade.  Day to day, life inches along at a seeming snails pace of growth and change.  Yet old cars remind of how far we’ve come marked by those who has travelled in them, and when.

I love the new car smell of my new car, but maybe I should have lingered over the familiar smells of my old car before turning it in.  They say that smell is your strongest sense and the one most connected with memory.  If I had maybe paused a second longer perhaps I could have willed myself to smell, one last time, all that this past decade gave to me:

The smell of newborn Mia on her way home from the hospital.

The smell of our dog Zack, sun kissed and pond soaked from a weekend at the lake.

My dad’s shaving cream and after-shave from his freshly shaved face as I drove him out for dinner in Collingwood while mom was away.

The sand from a day at Wasaga beach.

The smell of mosquito spray and dirty clothes from Toby’s weeks at camp.

Take out sushi dinners- a family favourite.

The smell of chlorine from the weeklong trip with the Grandparents to the waterslide capital of the world in Minnesota.

Kids.  So many kids.  Laughing on the way to and from birthday parties.

The children’s tears on their last day of kindergarten.  And grade one.  And grade 6.

My private tears from Mia’s first day of kindergarten.

The smell of stale coffee from early morning risings to the airport that then sat abandoned during weeks long vacations, and awaited us on the quiet, content trips home from the airport.  From Florida.   And Halifax.  And France. And  even Australia.

Maybe I should have named my car.  Maybe I should have taken one last glance and smell of it before so joyfully jumping into another one.

It’s been an important decade of growth and memories and I can’t even imagine what memories will swirl through my head 10 years down the road when I hand over my next car.

So long, old faithful Rav4.  You’ve served us well!