It’s JUST A CAR, Sherri…That’s what I keep telling myself…it’s just a car.
During a morning recess in Grade Four, I fell and skinned my knee. It was September and a warm day. I was wearing a new pair of back to school pants that my mom and I had picked out – mint green with fine stripes. I loved those pants. It was the first day I had worn them and probably my last. I remember falling and looking at my knee and then crying. My friends took me to the teacher who sent us in to get cleaned up. I basically had a skinned knee, but that wasn’t why I was crying. I was crying because my brand new mint green pants that I loved were ruined – on day one. I was devastated about my pants. We went into the classroom and my grade four teacher hugged me and said “They’re just pants. We care more about you and that you’re ok.” Why is this such a vivid memory for me? I know exactly why – someone tried to reason with me and explain that pants are replaceable, but I am not. So if pants get ripped, that’s better than something more serious happening to me. Then why does it still bother me so much about those pants?! Because to nine year old me, they weren’t “just pants”. I held an attachment because they were new and I liked them and I wanted to wear them more than just one time. But what bothers me about that day is that someone was trying to tell me how to feel. We should never do that. We should be allowed to feel how we feel and work through it rather than being told how to feel – reasonable or not, feelings are feelings and we should feel any feelings that come our way. Feelings aren’t rational – they are there and meant to be felt. That’s it.
Fast forward to today and I have to say goodbye to a possession that I hold near and dear to my heart. To something I honestly hoped to drive into the ground and have forever as long as it got me from point A to point B. Then, realistically, I hoped to keep it until September 2020 and then assess where things were at – that was my plan. 10 years. I wanted it for 10 full years. My vehicle. Why? Why do I have such an attachment to an inanimate object? It’s just a car – right?! Isn’t it just a car?
It doesn’t feel like it’s a just a car. Because to me…
My car is happy memory of when we were in Calgary for Ava’s transplant. We were at the end of her journey there and her health was 100% cleared. We were preparing to go home…soon…to put the entire cancer journey behind us. I had a van that I hated and I was absolutely tickled to trade it in and be behind the wheel of a Mazda once again. Ava was also absolutely tickled at the new vehicle. That girl loved everything about life and so for her, getting a new car, with her own DVD player in the headrest, was the best thing ever! Alivia, who was almost two years, was not so thrilled with adjusting to the new car. While Ava loved it, Alivia screamed bloody murder every time we put her in it. Oh, my little Livi and change – not so adaptable. My girls were so different.
May 21, 2010 ~ Sunridge Mazda, Calgary, AB ~ 2010 CX-9
My new car was like celebrating the end of the horrific cancer journey with Ava and the beginning of our new journey, cancer free.
My car is no longer serving me and my family. It is time to give it up as a new vehicle makes the most sense to keeping me and my family safe. That’s the rational thinking. Totally makes sense and I get it. I began preparing for this about a year ago, with high hopes that it would take me further than it did. But in early 2019, I knew that I had to trade it in and get something new. And I knew it had to be as soon as possible.
But, you see, to me, it’s not just a car…
It’s where Ava sat for the last few weeks in Calgary as we drove back and forth from the hospital. We also got to go to Banff and Lake Louise for a day trip. Trips to the zoo and shopping we did, too.
It’s where Ava sat and ate snacks and watched her show when we drove home from Calgary to Regina on June 9, 2010 after being away from home for 5 months.
It’s where Papa opened Ava’s door and took her out when we pulled up to our house after being away for 5 months for her transplant. Ava greeted him with a “Papa, I missed you.”
It’s where Ava sat when I drove her twice a week to preschool for almost an entire cancer free year.
It’s where Ava cried because I couldn’t get her to her one and only Halloween party at preschool because the roads were too bad.
It’s where Ava sat and watched her new show, Robin Hood, while her and Daddy drove to Calgary for her one and only post transplant check up in January 2011.
It’s where Ava sat eating popcorn twists and sang to all her shows while I drove.
It’s where Ava sat while I drove her to her monthly check ups at the cancer clinic.
It is where Ava sat when we drove home June 7, 2011 thinking she had a perfect check up, absolutely oblivious to the fact that her little body was full of those deadly cancer cells.
It is where Ava sat and watched her shows while I cried driving back to the cancer clinic to discuss her end of life options for care.
It is where Ava sat each day she told me what was on her bucket list for that day and we took her.
It is where Ava sat while we took her to the clinic every few days for platelet transfusions to keep her from bleeding out.
It is where Randy dove into the back to help Ava while I was driving as she started screaming hysterically and we didn’t know what had happened.
It is where Randy held Ava as she was near death on that last day she ever rode in the car to the cancer clinic for the last time she would receive platelets on July 5, 2011.
It is the car I drove on the way to the funeral home to make arrangements at 9 AM on July 7, 2011 crying all the way because when I looked in the rearview mirror Ava wasn’t there.
It is the car Alivia sat in on July 7, 2011 and looked at Ava’s spot and said in her innocent 3 year old voice: “Where’s Aya?”
It is the car I drove to the funeral home for her viewing.
It is the car I drove to the funeral home for her cremation.
It is the car I drive and cry in off and on for the past 7.5 years.
It is the car I park in front of the mausoleum when I go to visit Ava.
It is the car Ava sat in. It is forever Ava’s spot. It is forever Ava’s car.
I am devastated to say goodbye to this car.
But I have to say goodbye to this car.
You see, in the loss of your child, rational thinking and knowing what’s best doesn’t really matter. Life after this loss is a series of saying goodbye to things and letting things go slowly, one at a time. It is like I have to say goodbye to Ava little by little as things in life change. And saying goodbye to Ava over and over again, is heartbreaking. It’s really, really hard. And I just wish I could freeze time and hold onto everything that had anything to do with Ava. But life isn’t like that. Life moves forward. But with each passing day and with each letting go of something, life actually takes me further away from her.
The day has come for me to let go of my car, and this is a big one. I am sad, because to me, it is not just a car. Of course, I hold those memories of Ava and the car, near and dear to my heart – the good, the bad, the ugly, but I have to say goodbye to something I associate so deeply to Ava. Yes, I am emotionally attached to my car. I thought I’d drive it forever…but it’s not meant to be.
May 2019…my girls are so excited for the new car. I have decided to not get black again and go for white. Time to focus on the light in my life and white is the best colour to do that. Randy gave my car a good cleaning inside and I cleaned the outside. Took a few last pictures. Sat in Ava’s spot and thought of her and all the times she rode in that car.
Saying goodbye to the car…
New adventures await in this new car…probably just as many trips to Calgary, Banff, Edmonton, and Saskatoon. Summer trips to the pool, beach, and Milky Way. It will allow me to continue being a chauffeur for cheer practices and competitions. It will get me to work. It will allow me to run the many of thousands of errands. It will house all my business display for WP Creations. It will take me out to visit Ava at the mausoleum. This car will serve me and help me get from Point A to Point B.
The new car! A white CX-5!
The girls love the new car…
And it’ll be OK that Ava never sat in the backseat eating popcorn twists singing her little heart out while I drove, I’ll just keep telling myself that…
Because…it’s JUST A CAR, Sherri…it’s just a car.
Thanks for reading and for being here on my journey of life after the loss of Ava.
XOXOXO
Sherri
hipposandbows 