Not a particularly frightening or dramatic statement, but allow me to explain how it became so. First, said car, a reliable, lovely little sedan from the line of cars made in the last decade, died in the parking lot of a sporting goods store last weekend. I thought maybe it was because I’d bumped into a camouflaged pole sticking straight out in the middle of the parking structure throughway, but temporarily out of sight as I was backing up to squiggy into a spot enragingly marked “compact car” which, actually, would have accommodated at most a bicycle or two. But the car quickly restarted, I replaced my lost gloves (yes, at my age I still lose gloves, although not frequently), and chatted briefly with the cashier about memories of when gloves and mittens were sewn with yarn into the arms of coats. Mission successful, I drove my reliable little car through the rest of the errands and day trips that filled the week.
Then Tuesday night came, my turn to drive carpool. I had in my back seat the chatty 5th grader and my silent 4th grader, and the car stalled on the way to drop them off. Not a good feeling. I pulled into a parking lot, restarted, and off we went on our drive, paying very little attention to the car, which was now back to normal. Except it wasn’t. I dropped the kids off, and began to head home, and didn’t make it past the first stop light before it died again. And then again. And again. But there’s no good place to pull over during rush hour urban traffic, so I kept re-starting the car and going as far as it would go.
I was frightened. And I did that thing therapists are always telling you to do – I acknowledged my feelings. Out loud. Alone in my car, I engaged in a monologue. “I’m scared. This is frightening. Of course it is. It’s dark out, I’m alone, and my car is dying.” I had my cell phone and AAA card, so I was covered. I could get towed home from anywhere, so I decided to go as far as I could before I called for the tow. The most that was going to happen was I was going to be inconvenienced by not having a car the next day, and it’d cost more than I could afford. “It’s just money,” I continued in my patter. “I’m safe right now, and I will be. Just pay attention – stay focused.” I was mostly frightened of being rear-ended, as I knew that each time I was at a stoplight, the cars behind me would assume I’d move forward, and I might not. Long story longer, I kept talking to myself and my car, soothing and encouraging us both. I coaxed that little thing with gentle acceleration and kind words and even some pats to the dashboard all the way to the local garage where I knew I could leave it and the car guys would fix it (Thanks, Gene and Eric). It died for the last time just as I turned to park right in front of the shop. A victory.
But I was frightened. Little moments of vulnerability and mortality piercing through my packed-schedule life. I didn’t want to die, and that was my ultimate fear. How quickly I went there – how thinly veiled our thoughts are on top of this ever-present fear. I wasn’t thinking so much about me dying, but a more primal, maternal fear – my child is not ready to lose me. Plain and simple: I’m not done being his mother. So I told myself (not the car, just me), “Tonight is not the night I’m going to die.” I just kept driving, acknowledging my fear, my thumpy heart, kept my flashers on, kept breathing, kept giving myself permission to be scared but to keep going. I was so grateful the kids were safe and sound and that they weren’t in the car with me. I didn’t have to be brave and actively parent at the same time. That was a blessing. I got the car and I to the auto shop safe and sound. Another blessing. A friend was driving right by the auto shop (on her way to hang out with me at my house) so she was able to drive by and scoop me up and drive me home (Thanks, Phyllis). Another blessing. I used a friend-favor for one ride to work (Thanks, Andy), and considered how many rides I could get from friends, cabs or my husband to get me through all the maneuvering I had to do for two days. Then I remembered busses. First, school busses entered my consciousness, so rather than use complicated driving logistics, my son took the school bus (that stops across the street and down 2 houses from us) two days in a row (Thanks, Public School System). It took me more than 24 hours to remember city busses, but I finally did, and took one. I walked one block from my house to catch the first bus, stopped at the transfer stop which was across the street from the auto shop, I walked over to find out about when my little car would be ready (not ‘til after 5), walked back across to the bus stop, waited 10 whole minutes for the next bus, then arrived one and a half blocks from the entrance to my office. It cost me $2.00. A bit cheaper than the cab would have been (Thanks, City Bus System). Blessings, blessings, blessings.
My car’s set to be completed tonight. All the disruptions and inconveniences have been handled. It’s gonna cost more than I know where the money will come from right now. And off we head back into our schedule-packed life. My husband will pick me up from work (Thanks, Honey), and we'll go somewhere (cheap) for dinner. I’m alive another day to keep being my son’s mother. I’ll listen to the final draft of my son's homework tonight, which includes writing a letter to his future self that his teacher will hold and mail to him in 5 years; when I get home from work I’ve got to wash his karate gi and change the sheets on his bed; tomorrow, the last day of school before winter break, is the day some parents will be in the classroom to present the class holiday gift to the teacher. I’ll be there too. Blessings, blessings, blessings.
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