Cracked Window

Cracked Window

On March 25, 2009, we bought an SUV.  Whenever we bought vehicles, one of the determining factors was - Can a tuba fit in the back?  I've always preferred larger vehicles because of my height, and my husband always needed the large carrying capacity.

Over the past two years, I have tried to keep this vehicle going.  I have used it for the first day of school and other special or important days.  I took it to the cemetery.  I learned how to charge and change the battery.  I added a hitch to it so that we could use it for camping when the truck broke down.  I had never really driven this vehicle until Wayne was really sick.  I have a love-hate relationship with it.

I love it because it was Wayne's vehicle.  We went on family trips and had adventures in this vehicle. It was easily recognizable with the "I Love Bacon" magnet fixed to it, and the "I'd rather be playing the Euphonium" license plate cover.  I have pictures of the things we have done and places we have gone with this vehicle.

The hate part of the vehicle relationship is that it took my sick husband to the ICU, I had to pull him out of it, and then it came home without him.  Sometimes I can still see my husband hunched over in the passenger seat, which brings forth remembrances of all of the traumas that followed.

On March 26, 2016, the 2nd year mark of the day Wayne died, 7 years and 1 day after we bought it, I was driving this vehicle to the cemetery.  The radio that Wayne had installed himself, stopped working about 1-week prior, and on this day, as I went up the hill to my husband's site, lights started flashing - security, check engine, service - I turned off the vehicle, and the locks would not automatically unlock.  I felt sick to my stomach and realized that on this day of horrible remembrance and grief, that I had to let go of yet another thing.  And, I cried.  The release of grief bubbling out and pouring out onto the sidewalk.

After my time at the cemetery, the SUV did turn back on and the lights went off.  In my heart, I knew I needed to donate it to the Kidney Foundation, which I had done with the truck last year.  I need to know that this vehicle can help another in some way, and in Wayne's name.  I know that I could have probably sold it for someone else to fix it up locally, but I couldn't bear the thought of seeing someone else drive it.  I took pictures of the vehicle, discovering a small crack in the windshield, like the one in my broken heart, further emphasizing that it was time to let it go.

I went to the DMV, handing in license plates that had been with us all of our marriage.  I called the Kidney Foundation, and here yet again, I have to tell people that Wayne died.  His name is on the Title with mine, which by law, is transferrable to me.  However, I have to include a death certificate. because I have to prove that he died, and that I am not a divorcee looking for revenge.  To touch and pull out this document, feels like touching something unholy.  I cannot stand to hold it in my hands.  Yet, I force myself to do so.

Wayne's SUV, though driven by me for the past two years, has parts that have remained untouched.  His chapstick in one of the holders, the very deep storage bin under the middle console, and this little flip-covered storage part also in the middle.  I had to clean it all out.  I am around Wayne's things all of the time in our home, but here in the SUV, I uncovered new things.  Most would think it was junk or insignificant, but it was evidence of Wayne's life, and of our life together.

There were receipts, shells from the beach, baby sunglasses, 3D glasses from a movie premiere, a saxophone reed, radio station flyer, multiple chargers, masking tape, and a running headlamp.  There were coins in baggies used for camping, sunscreen, and magnets and car stickers of things Wayne loved and supported.  There was a splatter stain on the ceiling over my son's seat, where he probably pulled a straw out of a drink and flung it upwards.  There's an orange stain under my son's seat too - where a smoothie from a local restaurant had spilled.  Everything salvageable went into a box, where I know again that I will have to sort and touch all of these things again someday.

It triggered me to touch all of this, and to remember, and I sat there and sobbed in the SUV.  The doors were closed, sitting in the seat Wayne last sat in, the sun shining in through the windows, with the grief pouring out.  The deep storage that held Wayne's things, reminds me that the memories and love are still deep in my heart.

And, so today, I said a final goodbye to this vehicle.  I no longer have a vehicle that had Wayne in it.  There's a finality to it, and it is uncomfortable.  My new vehicle, while reliable and of high quality, is not something that I can fully enjoy - because I know, if Wayne were here, I would not have it.  I appreciate the help that I got in getting a good vehicle, and I know Wayne would like the one I now have, but I wish I could ride in it with him.  I did the best I could to keep our vehicles going, and I learned a lot along the way.  

I brought my son out to the SUV and we then said good-bye together, my son bouncing in his old seat, lightheartedly laughing about the splatter stain.  And, I choked back a sob, and again the sun shone down on us, whispering "I love you."


Reflection Verses:

All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you.  (Psalm 38:9 NIV)