I remember when I met you 11 years ago. You were already 6 years old. But you were perfect. Exactly what I needed.
What we all needed.
When we brought you home we were astounded at just how perfect you were. You gave us our space, you gave us a choice of 5 CD's at one time. You gave us cool air in the hot summers and heat in the dead of winter. You took us anywhere we wanted to go. And go we did. You took us almost 350,000 km over the years.
Ahhh. the Good times we've had.
Remember all the trips to the mountains? There were city trips, country trips, Okanagan Trips. Trips north, south, east, and west.
There have been unforgettable moments...like when we saw that moose a little too close for our liking. Or remember the time I tried to introduce you to the mailbox? Or the time when we both thought you'd make the turn in the middle of the country road but were mistaken and we slid into the ditch...more than once. All the times where we've sat in parking lots with you just content to sit and not make a sound while I turn your key...
Which leads me to the purpose of this letter.
You're changing. You don't sing like you used to. Your CD player quit working long ago. You're missing your antenna. Your radio is silent, yet the sliding door dings consistently as we drive. Your wheels are flat every other morning and need to be filled before we take you out. You no longer cool us so much in the heat...and this winter? Well...you're heater doesn't keep us warm anymore. At all.
I get worried when you stall as I try to cross the highway. And those times when you're silent in the parking lot? Well...they scare me. Especially when I'm out at night alone with you. And lately when I try to step on the pedal to make you run- you hesitate....for 4 too many seconds than you should. You're winking with just one front light now, and you shudder at funny times during trips to the city.
Now normally I don't write letters like this. In fact- I try to see the best in everyone. But I need you. A reliable version of you. And I think you're tired of trips and getaways.So for your own safety as much as ours...you need to slow down. Actually- you need to stop.
I thank you for seeing us from place to place and for all the good travels we've had. You will be missed, Lucy.
Dawn and family
P.S. Maybe one day...in about a year from now...we'll let a certain 16 year old try to fix you up. And we'll help him. And he'll be as eager to drive you - as I was to drive MY parents olive green station wagon at his age.