Out With The Old

It finally came time to get a new car.  Squishy the Neon was getting me from point A to B but not reliably enough with winter coming and the systems failing more often.  What once began as an adventure with my car to get me by had started to become a morning routine of praying that she’d make it to point B safely.  And that kind of worry is something I just don’t need.

I did get misty eyed at the dealership as we turned her in though.  I’m a bit of a sentimental fool and that car has gotten me through a lot in the past six years.  I remember taking it on midnight runs to 7-11 while studying in law school.  I remember taking it on not-as-fun midnight runs to my Nana’s nursing home as her health faded.  I remember taking it for joy rides and taking it to work.  It was just a car, sure.  But it was also a box full of memories.

Probably what makes the trade in so much more difficult is the source of the car.  My maternal grandparents and I have had a tumultuous relationship, largely because my mom and them have had a tumultuous relationship.  My grandfather bought me the car when I started law school because I had a clunker at the time and had to drive to downtown Detroit at night.  They didn’t want me getting stuck alongside the road.  It was an amazing gesture and one that normally I wouldn’t think I was worthy of, but given the state of the relationship now, I kind of feel like the material things are there to somewhat make up for the lack of a relationship.

Without going into details, after the death of my grandmother, my grandfather has decided to essentially disown everyone.  He feels my parents are lazy and that the times they came to him for help were signs of weakness.  He’s never thought much of my brother for some unknown reason.  And although he always liked me, he can’t seem to love me enough to let me in.  See, he has a longstanding and undiagnosed mental illness which I think is probably bipolar disorder coupled with alcoholism and now riddled with dementia.  You can’t get through to him.  Every once in awhile I’ll send him a card, but I never hear back.

I was never particularly close to my mom’s parents like I was with my dad’s parents.  It wasn’t my fault.  As a child they were never particularly fond of being grandparents.  As I got older, my grandfather took a bit of a shining to me and supported my educational endeavors both emotionally and sometimes financially.  But we still never had an open and loving relationship.  It was very stilted–very rehearsed.

Now I don’t see him at all.

My brother and mother have driven by his place.  My brother even tried to get him to let him in, but my grandfather wouldn’t have it.  My mom is understandably devastated about the loss of a father before he’s even dead.  I try to help.  We all do.  But there’s nothing that can erase the hurt a loved one causes, especially when that loved one is mentally ill and refuses help, love or attention.

On Saturday we couldn’t find the title of my car to turn it in for the trade-in.  We searched everywhere, but it wasn’t turning up.  Eventually we decided at 11:35 to drive to the nearest Secretary of State (what most people deem the DMV in other states) Super Center (which is open on Saturday until 12 noon) to get a copy.  We got in the car and I drove the hell out of that little thing, weaving and bopping down the freeway.  We made it there with 8 minutes to spare.  A miraculous driving time. One last mission accomplished.

Later that afternoon, as we drove off with the new car and I looked back at my old one, the nostalgia hit me hard.  That little car got me through so much, and meant so much in a relationship that was strained at best.  And now, it was gone with only that one last mission to remember her by.

I hope one day my grandfather and I will have that one last mission before he dies.  I’m hopeful, but I’m not optimistic.  Sometimes people just won’t let you in no matter how hard you knock on the door.  I hope I can gather some lesson from it, but all I can easily derive from it is pain and hurt. At least for now.  Maybe one day I’ll be able to see it as a warning to take care of myself and let my family and loved ones in my life even when it is hard to do so.

When there is so much emotion attached to physical things, it’s hard to move on.  But maybe this type of new beginning is what I need: a new fresh guilt-free perspective to drive through life.  You see, memories are great when they’re good…but when they’re tainted, it’s time to move on.