I have a new car.
Most people say that with excitement. Not me. It’s almost embarrassing. I take that back-it’s not almost embarrassing-it’s downright humiliating.
I needed help these past few months. And I got it, lots of it. The generosity of the people in my life astounds me. It still astounds me. I am not good at admitting I need help and I am even worse at taking help. Had it been just me I never, ever would have allowed others to help me. But it’s not just me. I have 3 people counting on me. They needed things that, for a bit, I couldn’t provide.
For them I learned to swallow what was left of my pride (not that there is a lot left) and learned to say “thank you”. Just that-“thank you”. And I learned not to cry in front if them. Crying makes people uncomfortable.
I drove a cash car. It had been my idea to buy a cash car to eliminate a bill when things were tight. (Didn’t know HOW tight). It was okay as long as there was back-up. When I lost the back up it suddenly didn’t seem like such a grand idea. I was carrying around a gallon jug of water because I had to put water in my car before I left for work and before I left work for home. The air-when it worked-caused the car to get so fumey that it was sometimes just better to be hot. It creaked when I drove and squealed when I stopped. It made me 10 kinds if nervous.
One Saturday morning, after a miserable night, I jumped in my car and headed towards the clinic. I made it 3 feet. Then it quit. Just stopped. No sputter, no ga-gonk-shudder and stop-just stop. Dead stop. I was the sick one but what if it had been my little one? What if it did this pulling out into traffic? What if it died on my way to day care and I had no way to get my babies. I couldn’t accept those what ifs.
So, by myself, I went to a car dealership. The worst possible place to be alone and vulnerable. But there I was. I bared my soul and told my story. I was ashamed and mortified but I knew it had to be done. For them-those in the backseat-I will do anything. Even if anything is admitting to the very sad truth about the situation I was in.
The advice I got- do it now and don’t wait. Do it before the bad got worse. Go new-the reasons are to revealing so I’ll just leave it there.
So I have a new car. You won’t see me hooping and hollering. In fact, if you see me and compliment me on it I am liable to look down at the ground and mumble, “thank you” before changing the subject.
I am going to put my new monogram on my new car. It’s a symbol to remind me of who I was-who I am and who I’ve got to get back to. It’s a reminder that it’s me—ME—that has to make every single decisions-alone-and based in what is good for all of us.
So I have a new car. I had to. I will do whatever I have to in order to make it work. We will sacrifice a few things but I will be able to safely get them where they need to go. I have a new car.
If you helped me-in any way-know that I am forever in your debt. The anonymous grocery gift card, the cards with kind words and generous gifts, the pamphlets, the hugs and the prayers. Thank you for buying my jewelry and for loaning me what I needed. Thank you to those that rolled up their sleeves and went above and beyond the call of friendship to make my house livable. I’ve been given a lot. And I appreciate it all. Thank you. Thank you.
I have a new car but a heavy heart. Know that I know that driving a new car while accepting help is absurd. It feels greedy and wrong on one hand but safer and secure on the other. With 3 babies that depend on me I let the safety and secure hand sign the paper that made a new car mine.