When I think of my childhood I immediately remember a big body style Suburban. I remember the day we got it. I remember laying all the seats down in the back and making a pallet on long road trips for George's baseball. I actually think about this a lot and can't believe my parents allowed us to do such a thing! I now understand why my Auntie Joye covered our family's car with the Blood of Jesus before we went on any trips. This was the first car I learned how to drive - and I will say I can drive UHAULs without any problem because of it. Aside from the fact that, as I got older, it wasn't always the coolest car I am glad I have those memories.
Sometime after I was in high school the old was traded in for a newer model. It was perfect for my mom and she loved it. She drove it for six years before she was told she couldn't drive anymore. After that, it sat nicely in our driveway. I still look back, in awe of her gracious manner, when a privilege so big was taken away from her. It was one of the first tangible things to be taken by the Disease.
For about the last year my brother has been driving it. Even during that time we usually still called it "Mom's" Suburban. Two weeks ago he bought a new car and it was a matter of time before something would, once again, be done with the old. So, tonight when my dad called to tell me they had sold "Mom's" Suburban I wasn't too shocked. But when I hung up the phone I cried like I had lost another piece of my mom. It seems silly to cry over a car she hasn't driven in over four years, but I want the changes to stop. I want to see my smiling mom pull into the driveway again. I guess it isn't really the Suburban being gone that makes me sad. It's my mom.