The Truck

This past Friday morning, I dropped off my Ford Explorer at the repair shop with my guys Dale and Randy, for an overdue oil change and to check out a noise in the back I couldn't identify. That afternoon, I got a call from Dale. He wanted to tell me that they had opted not to do the oil change...because the noise in the back, once identified, was indicative of problems so expensive to repair that they totaled much more than the cost of the vehicle. "We thought maybe you wouldn't want to put any money into it," he said, "if, ah...you're going to look for a different vehicle." Then there was silence on the line.

"Dale," I said calmly, "I'm just going to call you back."

The Truck came into my life at a pivotal moment. I'd been working two part-time (read: not part-time) jobs, struggling to stay afloat in the turbulent wake of a divorce, holding up myself, my household, and my little family, as we navigated all the heartbreak, trauma, and logistics of the ending of a past life. We had weathered the worst of the storm, and were beginning to regain some equilibrium. The divorce was no longer a thing that was happening, but was starting to become a thing that had happened. Slowly, we were beginning to see our way through to a new future. We cleaned house, took down pictures, rearranged furniture, bought new lamps. Threw things out. Cried. I got a new, great, full-time job. One week before I started work, through a combination of circumstances and the generosity of a stranger, The Truck came to me unexpectedly, as a gift.

It was a work horse, and it was used to hauling things, and to my surprise, that's how I began to use it immediately. I hadn't even known I needed a truck, but the duties of my new job ended up involving a lot of moving stuff around, and The Truck immediately became my partner in ministry. I could fit almost anything inside--stacks of chairs, bins of school supplies, bag after bag of clothing--you name it, The Truck and I made it happen. And it wasn't just at work. I discovered that everything I had to do was easier with The Truck. Going by myself with the boys to cut our Christmas tree? No problem. The tree fits in The Truck. Hosting a crowd at the house for Friendsgiving, because the boys will be at their dad's for the holiday? Easy. Just haul home all the chairs and tables in The Truck. It never quit, never got tired, and never, never stopped. No matter how long I worked, The Truck worked with me.

We could do anything, The Truck and I. It was rough and tough and not afraid of anything. I hate driving on winter roads, and am always afraid when there's snow and ice, but The Truck had 4-wheel drive. I sometimes worry about hydroplaning, too, when it's raining hard out, but The Truck's tires were extra-grippy for SUV's and were made to handle any terrain. Sometimes, I drove over a median or through the grass, because why not? The Truck was made for off-road--it could handle it. I had to stand up on the running board to get inside, and The Truck and I were big, strong, and invincible.

Most of all, from the very beginning, The Truck was mine. It wasn't chosen with or by anyone else, it wasn't a hand-me-down or a compromise, it was mine, and I made of it what I wanted. I bought accessories to fit it so that I could have the trash can in the back like I always wanted, since the kids are constantly making such a mess back there. (And guys, you can take that trash container out and WASH IT IN THE DISHWASHER.) I stashed blankets, scrapers, umbrellas, jumper cables, first aid kits, all exactly where I wanted them. There was a cassette player, and I pulled out all my favorite tapes from back in the day, and I listened to whatever I wanted, introducing the boys to not only new music, but new technology ("Hey Mom, can we listen to that one song?" "No we can't. Wait until it gets there."), and it was not only mine but it was ours. We listened to books on CD. We all piled in the back together at the drive-in. My oldest drove for the first time ever in The Truck, and passed his driver's test. We became experts at packing the cargo area with all our gear for camping, or vacation. We made new memories, passed new milestones, started new traditions, embarked on a new life, and The Truck took us to those places together.

On Saturday morning, I went to pick up the keys, and make the last trip home. I drove, slowly, seven miles from the shop to my house, and I cried all the way, big, hot tears rolling down my cheeks and splashing in my lap, stopping, as always, to pull myself together just before I reached my destination, and step out ready to face the world again. It wasn't the first time The Truck and I have cried like that, alone together, just the two of us, where no one else can see. But I'm sad it will be the last.