My Car is Home

My minivan came home tonight, after almost 7 weeks in the shop.

It has a new hood, a totally new paint job, new driver door, new bumpers, and I think new front bummer and headlights.

And I'm devastated.

I don't know if it's because seeing it brought back all the stress of the storm and the days following, or if it's because I missed the car (which I never would have guessed because I am not a car person), or because the paint job seems darker, or because all my bumper stickers are gone, or because there are shards of glass and metal in all the little crevices despite an obviously good interior vacuum, or because there are smudgy, greasy handprints in odd places on the roof upholstery.

The kids jumped right in and were driving and having a happy time until I shooed their little barefoot selves out of the car. They went in to bathe and I went back out and sat in the driver's seat and wept.

Mom, I know you're not online right now because your part of Houston still doesn't have power, but is this how you felt after the burglary? after the fire? after the various floods at Dad's shop? after his Suburban was carjacked with you right there? right now, after Hurricane Ike? Just a little violated, a little unsure, a little overwhelmed, a little depressed? I know in the long run, or even in the short term, that everything is okay. It's just a car. And the car is still just fine. And we're all okay. But it doesn't feel like ours again yet.

Even if, in the end, my UU chalice medallion that hangs from my rearview mirror is intact, unscathed, and still in place, despite all the damage and clean-up. Surely, that's a sign.