A Thank You Note To My Nissan Rogue

I know I complained a lot about your rust. Your strange noises. No Bluetooth or backup camera. Your broken transmission at only 60,000 miles. But really, I should have thanked you. The four wheels, grey metal walls, and bits of plastic that covered your frame brought about a great deal of healing in my life. 

Thank you for putting in all the miles on our summer of adventure. My soon to be ex-husband was gone and my son was three. Home was a lonely place to be. Empty dinner table. Empty bed. The constant refrain from a naive little boy grasping our new reality, “When will I see daddy?”

We didn’t know how much longer this house would still be home. How much longer would my son’s bedroom, with his newborn onesie hanging on the wall, still be ours?

I decided we would go on every adventure we could get our hands on and you were our ride. 

You took us to Maryland for a rustic camping trip. 
To our favorite Finger Lakes beach. 
To downtown Rochester for festivals.
To get burgers and fries at the lake. 
To swim at the public pool. 
Countless trips just a mile down the road to my haven—my parents house at dinnertime. 
To the nature park where I spent many afternoons, holding my pudgy toddler’s hand. 
To friend’s houses for dinners and campfires. 
To bike rides at the canal. 
To counseling offices. 
To the signing of the divorce papers in a blizzard.

You accumulated sand and scratches, dirt and dents, memories and miles.

Thank you for letting me blast your speakers. I turned them up so loud they rattled. Thank you for listening to me sing and cry and pray while I watched your odometer tick higher. 

I have a theory that singing is healing because it forces you to exhale and inhale the anxiety sitting in your lungs. 

You didn’t judge my out of tune voice or the crumb covered car seat. You were just there to carry my body and heart to the other side of grief and uncertainty.

I am sorry I didn’t thank you when we traded in your stained gray seats, but I’m thanking you now.