Dying with a full tank

I have some friends who name their cars impressive sounding names like Bruce and Black Beauty. I don’t do that. I name my children instead.

I have never named my car, except when I am angry. I will not repeat the names that I have called my cars when I am angry. For that, I am sworn to secrecy.

1995 Honda

One of my favorite cars was a burgundy 1995 Honda Accord. The car seemed to shimmer in the sunlight and it felt luxurious whenever we drove it. Maybe it was the deep red color that reminded me of a good bottle of wine, but I felt like the car was special. I loved the car until it began to randomly stall in public places.

We would be driving the car at 60 kilometers an hour and it would suddenly stall. I felt like I was with a Senior Citizen who experienced a random napping disorder. Without warning, my car would have a nap. This is a funny thing to write about if you are with a 78 year old who is drooling. But we are talking about my only vehicle dying in the middle of traffic.

It is weird, but I had to acknowledge my feelings of death anxiety related to my car. I knew I should put it down, let it go, wave goodbye and let it die. But I resisted. My wife almost gave birth twice in the car. Well, actually, the car got us to the hospital fast enough that she didn’t give birth inside the car. So she almost gave birth in the car… and I almost had a good story to tell.

The car got me through night after night of on-calls at my first real job in Alberta. I sped to work at 140 km an hour on the highway so that I could get to work and support our night staff with an urgent situation. Now I had to make the call to put my car down? It was too much.

Toward the end, I remember filling the tank with $50.00 worth of gas. The next day, the car died with my wife and both children inside. That was it. Bye, bye Honda.

It struck me the other day that I want to die like that. Full of gas… (No, not gassy…) but full of fuel. Why die empty?

Tired, but still have another trip inside: that sounds like a good way to go.

I remembered this story because I saw almost my identical Honda driving near where I work. It may have been a mirage, but maybe my car has a second life?

 

Keep it real and gas up.

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