Friends were telling me on Sunday that there car has died and gone to the knackers yard. It turns out the car was nineteen years old and had been with them almost from the start of it’s life. It had clocked up a staggering 347,000 miles in its life time, so I think you can safely say it didn’t owe them anything. My friend said in passing, as he walked away, it’s only a lump of metal. As soon as he said it I could see that it was so much more than that. It had been their companion throughout so much. Their children had learnt to drive in it, it had taken them on countless holidays, and been a cart horse for their many musical instruments.
It may be a lump of metal now, but locked into it is a heap of memories, a cocktail of joy and sorrow. A new model will smell clean, be quiet and economical. Yet it lacks the character of that spilt coffee stain, the glove box held together with tape and the scrape down the side when it was kissed by another vehicle too strongly. Rest well faithful servant to a family. In resurrection may you become an object of beauty and admiration.