Goodbye Rosie
In the past 3 months, I’ve lost my dog, my dad, and my car.
In the past 3 months, I’ve lost my dog, my dad, and my car. Of course, my dad dying was the biggest loss but losing my car affected me more. Not so much because of the car itself — it is replaceable — but rather how I lost it. The car, a fire engine red Model Y Tesla which I named Rosie, was the nicest car I have ever owned. Prior to Rosie, I had been driving a series of “mom” cars.
The first mom car was a metallic blue Honda Odyssey minivan. Then a pearl white Toyota Highlander Hybrid (basically a minivan masquerading as an SUV). My husband loved both those cars but he only drove them on family outings camping or on a ski trip. The rest of the time, my husband zipped around in his sleek bronze BMW Z4 two-seater convertible while I drove the oversized clunkers filled with empty juice box cartons, stray goldfish crackers, random socks, shin guards and forgotten papers from school.
When my kids got old enough to drive, I was more than happy to gift them the Highlander and I told my husband in no uncertain terms that it was my turn to get a “grown-up” car.
I knew I wanted an electric car — given global warming it made no sense to get another gas-powered car. I did not want a Tesla. I don’t particularly like Elon Musk and when the Tesla first came out it felt pretentious as only the uber-wealthy could afford them. But now they had made more affordable models — the 3 and the Y but still we resisted. We drove our friend’s Chevy Bolt and then test drove BMW’s version that was so ugly it was cute. Finally, and a bit begrudgingly, we decided to try the Tesla. Once we drove the Tesla, we understood the fuss.
The 0–60 acceleration in 5 seconds, the smooth drive, the heft and solidity of the car, the way it handled, and it was so quiet! I had never driven anything like it. Yes, the lack of a dashboard and doing everything on a tablet would take some getting used to but I was sold. We ordered our Model Y on the spot and paid extra for the red. I could hardly contain my excitement.
My beautiful Rosie was delivered to my home one month later. She was everything I hoped she would be: sleek, shiny, red…and all mine. I finally had the nicest car in the family.
Unfortunately, it was not to last.
Three weeks later while I was in our local grocery store, the truck that was parked next to Rosie, scraped her right rear bumper as it was pulling out of its parking spot. She didn’t even have her permanent plates yet. Thankfully the driver found me and gave me his insurance information but, my perfect car was marred.
Before Rosie was fixed, my son scraped up her right front bumper as he was backing out of our driveway. Two days later, my mom closed the automatic garage door while Rosie’s trunk was still open putting a dent in the back hatch. Rosie wasn’t even a month old.
We found an amazing body shop guy, Larry, who made Rosie look good as new. Unfortunately, 6 months later, I backed into a short post and dented the bumper at a Tesla Supercharger station. Rosie was injured yet again. And once again, Larry was able to put her back together so you would never know.
I made it another 6 months before I hurt Rosie again. This time, I had forgotten to put her in park and an accidental touch of the accelerator pedal sent her lurching forward over the curb and into a parking meter which she flattened. The meter did not survive and Rosie’s right front fender was severely dented.
Never in my life as a driver had I had so many mishaps with one car and during such a short period of time. I sheepishly called State Farm to file yet another claim — the female agent practically laughed at me, “Is this the Tesla, again?” And after withstanding her amused and slightly mocking tone, I sent a text to Larry with apologies and embarrassment. “No worries” he texted back, “I gotchu”.
After waiting over a month for the insurance check to arrive, I made plans with Larry to have the car fixed during the last few weeks of July. It was perfect timing as we would be in Denmark visiting our daughter who was spending the summer in Copenhagen. I looked forward to Rosie being whole once again.
Then the unthinkable happened.
It was July 14th, around 10 pm at night. I was engrossed in a jigsaw puzzle, enjoying a glass of chardonnay, and listening to a podcast on my white noise cancelling Beats headphones. I was in my own world oblivious to any sounds around me. And then, my Iphone rang through my headphones, interrupting my reverie and disturbing my light buzz.
“Mom, its Nik”. I was confused. Wasn’t he downstairs? I hadn’t heard him leave. And then I heard the sirens wailing in the background. I froze.
“Mom, I am ok but the car is not”.
“Wait, where are you? Which car? What happened?”. My words came out in rapid fire as I struggled to comprehend what he was saying.
“It’s Rosie. She’s toast. I’m on 280. I went to get Ben and his cousin,pounds and a car came out of nowhere. Everyone is ok. Can you guys come get me?”
Nik was eerily calm. And I was too. I felt confused about how I should be feeling. Rosie was toast — ok that sucked. But Nik was ok and in fact, sounded better than ok. Should I be angry or hysterical or worried or sick to my stomach? All I felt was numb.
We jumped in the car that Nik normally drives, our white Toyota Highlander and not thinking took the long way around and ended up in the traffic slowdown caused by the accident. It took us at least 20 minutes to reach our son.
It was surreal driving by the scene of the accident, seeing Rosie, indeed toast, with her nose crumpled in, her windshield shattered, her front tires askew and flattened, her airbags deployed. It was at that moment that my calm thawed, and I wanted to vomit. I didn’t care that Rosie was gone. All I could think of was that my son was alive. My 18-year-old son who had just graduated high school, who was heading off to college in the fall, who had his entire life ahead of him, was alive. My son was alive.
My husband and I finally reached the rest area where my son was waiting — his friend’s mom had beaten us to the scene and had picked the boys up from the side of the freeway after they had given their statements to the police. My son is 6’2”, 280 pounds and a defensive lineman on his football team. As soon as he saw us, he walked over and collapsed in my arms, shaking and sobbing. I started sobbing too, my son was alive.
Once we were back in the safety and warmth of our home, we debriefed. Nik admitted he was wrong for leaving without letting us know. He thought he would go to Ben’s house and be back with us being none the wiser. He had no real reason to sneak out, I would have let him take Rosie. He couldn’t really say why he had just gone. He chalked it up to an ADHD moment. In the end, it would not have changed what happened, but we made a rule then and there: no leaving without telling us even if it is for a short trip.
Nik also told us that when the three of them got in the car at Ben’s house he had said, “Buckle up, boys”.
Ben dutifully put on his seatbelt but his cousin who was visiting from Hong Kong said, “We never wear seatbelts at home”.
Nik responded, “Well you do in my car.” The many years of me insisting that seatbelts be worn had paid off.
Not 5 minutes later, they slammed into the side of an SUV that was thrown suddenly into their path after being knocked by another car. Nik was going 70 miles per hour. The cousin’s wallet which had been sitting on the back seat next to him ended up wedged between the driver seat and the side of the car. I shudder to think what would have happened to Ben’s cousin had Nik not insisted he put on his seatbelt.
I got to visit Rosie two more times after that before she was finally taken away for good. Once to release her from the tow yard where she was taken after the accident and once after she was brought to Larry so he could confirm for the insurance company that she was not salvageable. She was not. When I could get up close to Rosie and walk around her, I could see how miraculous it was that everyone had walked away from the accident unharmed. It made me sick to think what could have been. Rosie, my sturdy 4400 lbs. beautiful shiny red car, had saved my son’s life.
Saying goodbye to Rosie was hard for me.
On the one hand, I was relieved not to look at her anymore and be reminded of the accident and how disastrous it could have been. Then again, she was my first grown up car and I felt about her almost like a first love. And there is nothing like the feeling of a first love. I remember walking away from Larry’s shop knowing it was going to be the last time I saw Rosie. I felt a mixture of sadness and gratitude towards her. It was another month before I could bring myself to delete her from my Tesla app.
Gracie arrived in December. She is our replacement Model Y, grey not red and with white seats instead of Rosie’s black ones. I am being very careful with her — she is already 5 weeks old, has her permanent plates and has not suffered as much as a scratch. I am happy to be driving Gracie especially after driving our 2007 Black Prius for the past 4 months. Driving the Prius is more like driving a golf cart when compared to the power of the Tesla. But I don’t feel the same way about Gracie as I did Rosie. I don’t think I ever will.
Rosie was my first. The joy and excitement I felt during the year and a half that I had her will never be matched by Gracie. And, besides, Rosie saved my son’s life.
