Sometimes Grief Is Buying a New Car
Not long ago, my husband and I decided it was time to buy a new car. The plan was to replace my car next year, and he asked me to start shopping now so that I had time to consider all my options and make the right decision when we were ready to move forward.
That conversation happened three months ago, and I hadn’t taken any steps towards it. With everything else I had on my plate at the time, the idea of adding one more thing (even a fun one) overwhelmed me.
Besides, I rationalized, there was no rush. I had a year to make a decision; the loss of three months isn’t a big deal.
Then, about a month ago, Dan commented that I hadn’t taken any steps yet and it was making him anxious. Dan is highly deliberate and does months and months of research before making decisions.
It’s a quality I’ve learned to appreciate over time, although I approach decision-making from a different angle. (Dan is the guy who studied every night in college, while I was the person who did their homework on time but relied on cramming the week before the final.)
The other side of the issue is that I loved my existing car. While I broke the 100k mark on it earlier this year, that car represented something more significant to me.
It was the first time I’d bought a new car I could actually afford. It was the first time I’d bought a car without compromising anything on my must-have list and, by good fortune, got 90% of my wish list to boot. I loved driving it, and we had some wonderful memories in that car.
Emotionally, I was not ready to release the car. While we were starting to see some glitches, there were no major mechanical issues, and it’s not like it was getting serviced on a regular basis.
Sure, the suspension was shot and we were pretty sure there was a cracked CV boot; never mind that it needed new tires and it smelled mildewy after I drove in the rain and it creaked when we went up a curb, or that Dan was not looking forward to replacing the timing belt and other major servicing items – to me, those were minor details in the love affair I had with my car.
I sat down one night and started doing my research. I already knew that I wanted a new car with the same or better gas mileage (I was averaging over 40 mpg) and I leaned heavily toward going all-electric. Dan wanted to buy a used car, but we always start by looking at what’s new on the market and then working our way backward from there.
That night, I realized that there were only two options that interested me: a Chevy Bolt (all electric) or getting a newer version of my existing car, a CMax – which Ford is discontinuing in 2020 as a result of their streamlined inventory. Dan was not enthused by the idea of my buying another CMax, although the decision remained mine.
I told Dan I wanted to test drive a Chevy Bolt the next day and spent the night getting educated. I watched a lot of YouTube videos and figured out the key points of dissatisfaction among the existing buyers. I also looked at used car values for the Bolt and the CMax to get a sense of the market.
The next day, we took a look at the Bolt, and I was done. While I give up some of the features I love about my CMax, it’s the right car for my life today.
Even so, I was still attached emotionally to the CMax and was prepared to wait the full year before we pulled the trigger on a purchase.
However, Dan looked at the used Bolt market and decided there was no point in waiting or buying used; he was determined to buy a new car. As he explained his logic, I came to the inescapable conclusion that he was right and agreed we should replace the CMax now.
Suddenly, my long goodbye with the CMax disappeared, and it was a flurry of activity preparing it to be appraised and sold and getting my new car in place.
I wasn’t the only one struggling with releasing the CMax. Harper, our daughter, went into a minor panic at the rapidity of the change. “This car is my childhood!” she proclaimed with sadness. “You’re selling my childhood!” She was inconsolable.
The big day finally came, and we picked up my new car from the dealer. Dan asked Harper which car she wanted to ride in as we went to sell it: “Do you want to ride in the new car with Mom or with me?” “Whichever one is the CMax,” she answered through a veil of tears. She asked me to drive the CMax on that leg of the journey so that we could get one last ride in together.
Instead, she sat next to me during the entire transaction, wiping away the tears slowly leaking from her eyes. “Please, Mom, can’t we hold on to it for a little longer?” she pleaded. I understood how she felt, although I couldn’t make her wish come true.
When the representative returned with the check for the CMax, I came close to shedding some tears, too. The sale was final, and my beloved car was gone.
Even now, days later and enjoying my new car, I am sad the CMax is gone. My heart and my intellect are opposed to each other in this moment.
Thankfully, I have the experience to know that I can grieve what’s gone even while accepting that it was the right decision. I can mourn the loss and enjoy my new car at the same time. I’m not betraying my heart by moving forward even as I feel the pain of the loss.
It strikes me as I write this that this lesson goes beyond the buy-and-sell transaction of a new car. It’s like changing jobs where we loved our company and our co-workers; a bittersweet experience in which we grieve leaving our familiar and comfortable environment while feeling the excitement of a new adventure.
Or, moving: feeling sadness over leaving the home that embraced and held us for a time in our lives, even as we look forward to our new life.
As I reflect, I think that maybe this is true for most of life: We will always encounter situations that cause us mixed and opposing emotions. As long as we acknowledge those emotions and give them room to breathe in our hearts, our minds, and our bodies, I think it’s more than normal: It’s healthy.
Have you ever experienced a loss and needed to grieve it? What tips can you share?
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