I’ve given away, thrown away, and sold a number of Steve’s possessions since his death, and haven’t had any qualms about any of them. Yesterday, I got his car out of the garage and took it to my sister’s house. She’s going to sell it for me.

That one thing, that car, is the first thing that has hurt. I don’t want the car. Not only is it a convertible, which has limited use in Ohio, but it’s an old convertible without the one thing I really love in a car–air conditioning!

I don’t like to drive it and I certainly don’t want to baby it.

But it was Steve’s and he loved it. He loved it.

I’ll be glad when it’s sold. I won’t have to worry about it sitting there, quietly rusting in the damp Ohio spring. I won’t have to think about it any more. But I will think about it. I’ll see someone tootling by in a convertible and wonder why it couldn’t be Steve, out enjoying the weather. Why it couldn’t be Steve. It couldn’t be Steve.

I hope it sells to someone who loves it. I hope it sells to someone who knows someone else loved it, too. I hope they think of him, once or twice. I hope they care.