July 12

Today was the most difficult one I've had in quite a while, so I headed up to the deck with a beer to watch the sun fade into the distant hills this evening.

Adam and I goofed. My 1997 Honda Civic, which I affectionately named Chiquita when fresh-faced, college-aged me bought her brand new many moons ago, had been parked on the street by our old house since we moved last year. She had a valid registration, but there she sat, and at some point in the recent past, one of our neighbors apparently complained. I found out because the kind woman across the street texted to let me know a police officer had been ticketing cars that sat longer than three days. 

I went over for a look a few days later and there were no tickets on Chiquita, but Adam and I decided that since she no longer starts --he stopped driving her back when first gear went bad-- we'd donate her to the Make a Wish Foundation. We set up the donation and then... we just stopped. 

See, Chiquita was the car that we used to ferry Logan to and from his radiation appointments. It's the car that he affectionally referred to as "The Little Red Car." And I can still hear him calling her that in his chirpy little voice. So I decided that I couldn't handle letting her go. I couldn't handle the thought of no longer having that physical tie to him. But the problem was that I guess I didn't communicate that truth to Adam, so he didn't do anything about it, either. And as a result, she was towed, which we found out about yesterday. (Even though she was apparently towed two weeks ago. Not impressed with the notification process but it's our fault so oh well. It DOES make me feel for people who don't have the money to cover those fees, though.) And since mine was the only name on the title, I had to go to the police station to sign the form to have her removed from the impound lot.

I wasn't thrilled but I got through handing the clerk my license and then signing the paperwork. But then when I glanced at the writing on the form, I lost it, because the first word was "abandoned".

I realized they thought I'd abandoned my Chiquita. 

The car that we'd used to drive Logan to and from treatment. The Little Red Car.

I heard his voice in my head and I lost it, right then and there. I ugly sobbed into Adam's chest right there in front of a clerk and the woman she appeared to be training. I kept seeing that ugly word -- abandoned-- in my mind, and it felt like my refusal to deal with the situation was a metaphor for me abandoning my child. My Logan. I gulped and gasped and ugly cried for a while. The clerk quietly pushed a tissue under the window and I turned to explain why I was crying... and she said she was sorry... but still... abandoned. The Pleasanton Police think I'm an abandoner. The embarrassment and shame were overwhelming.

I spent the rest of the day in my closet, where I go pray and when I need to find clarity. I didn't find much, to be honest. I laid still and asked God to come close to me and I'm sure He did, but sometimes it's hard to feel Him when we hurt. It's hard to look beyond the pains and the things that trigger those emotions to see the reality. And the reality here is that we made a mistake by not arranging the donation sooner. And that I did all I could for Logan. And that The Little Red Car served us well for a long, long time. And that she will serve someone else in the future. And that though it was a hard day and my heart aches, I will not allow the hard memories and the bad feelings to dictate the rest of my life because God holds the pen that writes my story. So although today sucked, I am thankful that more days will come, and that most of them will be better.