In memory of Sheila

Sometimes it is hard to say goodbye.

I've only ever loved one car. She was my first--the first car I ever drove. I remember feeling upset by the fact that I wasn't supposed to use both feet to press the pedals. We passed my driving test with flying colors together, but she still doesn't trust me to parallel park much. On our first drive alone, I rocked out to Beyonce feeling liberated and alive. 

She was the setting for my first kiss, cheering me on with music and soft revving noises. 

She got me in trouble once for speeding down a hill, which we both thought was ridiculous. She witnessed tickle fights, crazy car dancing, and my learning to change a flat tire.

We moved away to college together, and then drove endlessly back and forth between Salt Lake and Provo. She even accidentally received a "wedding trashing" at my best friend's wedding. 

Over the years, Sheila has seen me at some of my most desperate and glorious moments. She's felt me pound the steering wheel and heard me wail a prayer into the night. She's been my silent companion as I drove my thoughts around town. She helped me be brave and pushed me to laugh, dance, and sing. She saw the cheesy and romantic deliciousness that settled into the constant comfort of being.

She is truly amazing, but now I feel like the rotten husband trading his wife in for a newer model.
Sure, she and I celebrated her 100,000 mile birthday about 10,000 miles ago.
Yes, my sister criticizes her air conditioning.
True, the windshield wipers make annoying sounds
She's been battered and bruised by no fault of mine or her own, but she has never ever let me down.


I'm going to miss her, but I am learning to love again. Perhaps this new car will be the car that takes me to graduate school, the one I drive away in from my wedding, the car that drives me to my first home, and the one my first child leaves the hospital in.

Either way, dear Sheila, it's been a good ride.