Farewell, My 1990 Volvo Station Wagon

Dear Gundar,

I'm sorry we had to part under such circumstances. It was hard to let go of you, my 1990 Volvo 740 Turbo station wagon. We had such fond memories of good times together.

You were only eleven years old when we first met, a mere youth in the lifetime of a Volvo. I saw the classified ad in the paper, and I knew I had to have you. The woman who was selling you lived in Champaign, but you really came from Missouri. I still don't know what color you are – gold or copper, perhaps? – but I do know that it was love at first sight. We got you evaluated by our Volvo expert Bill, and thankfully you passed with a clean bill of health. So we bought you.

Compared to our other car, Ingrid the 1982 Volvo 240, you were brand new. You rode so smoothly, and I always felt confident that you could take me wherever I needed to go, safely. We drove you on countless trips – to Chicago, to Kentucky, to Iowa – and hauled cargo around town – an electric piano, a huge television, pavers from Menard's, caution barriers we borrowed from the city – in the spacious area that resulted from folding the back seats forward.

At one point, your speedometer gave out and wouldn't work unless the undercarriage of the car was wet. I knew of a big puddle in a parking lot at the University, so we drove you through that puddle and the speedometer would work once more, until it dried out again! Eventually we got your speedometer fixed – it was just a simple cable that needed to be replaced.

When I moved to Tennessee, I drove you down here, without a care in the world. You were my trusty fifteen-year-old Volvo, and nothing could stop you.

Alas, the long drive had a negative effect on you, and you were never the same after that. Your tail-light went out and had to be replaced. You began refusing to start at the most inconvenient times. And you broke down on me at the airport. I got you repaired, but there were still problems that we couldn't solve. By that point, we were expecting a new addition to the family, and we needed a more trustworthy vehicle in which to transport him or her. So we bought a new Chevy Impala, and relegated you to secondary transportation status. I know you began to get jealous. We tried to make it up to you by replacing your brakes. But you threw our generosity in our faces by squealing every time the brake pedal was depressed.

Look, Gundar, I know it's hard being a teenager. I've been there myself. And you felt like you were being replaced in our affections. But you weren't!

I cried about losing you, and you just kept getting more and more distant and unreliable. You wouldn't start at the most important times. We no longer felt safe driving you. So in November, we bought a 2005 VW New Beetle to replace you as my transportation to work. The Beetle took your parking space in the carport and you were relegated to the side of the road.

I'm really sorry, Gundar. I wish I knew what I could have done to help you! You were always my favorite car. But I think you'll be better off with the National Kidney Foundation of East Tennessee. They will refurbish you and give you to kidney patients in need of reliable transportation to/from dialysis. I hope that you can return to your old dependable ways and give the kidney patients the same sort of good memories that you gave us. You will always have a fond place in my heart, Gundar.

Love,
Rebecca

(Inspired by a blog blast for car blabber)