WORKING THROUGH GRIEF

I’m Sad, So I’m Going to Buy Something I Don’t Need and Can’t Afford

It’s the American way.

Bev Potter
4 min readFeb 20, 2024

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Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

Cleaning out my mom’s house alone is something I never really thought about in advance. I don’t know if I thought it would just magically happen or what, but it’s a Herculean task that’s destroying what tiny scraps of mental health I had to begin with.

I think I’ve finally found the last ticking time bomb — a cache of letters hidden in the back of an underwear drawer. Most of them are from my mom’s parents when she moved to Ohio from Kentucky in 1946 to attend beauty school. She was 17 years old.

But one of them is a love letter to her from my dad. Just one, but one is enough.

I, the perpetrator of two failed marriages and exactly zero successful relationships (including even friendships), can’t read that letter without wondering what their secret was. And of course, there is no secret. I’m just a defective human being who can’t feel any good emotions, only the bad ones.

Anyhoo, I’m going to salve that particular wound by buying a giant truck.

The problem with “test driving” a vehicle is that, once you get behind the wheel your brain whispers, “Yessss, my precious,” and it’s all over.

All that self-talk about negotiating, and demands, and walking away if the deal isn’t good enough — that’s complete horse shit. You came, you saw, you bought.

Please don’t bother me right now because I’m busy rationalizing my decision. My current SUV needs brakes and rotors, and will soon need tires (again — what is with me and tires, am I driving in NASCAR in my sleep?). Also, I have the last Ford Z Plan PIN I will ever have, which expires in April. It would be shame to waste that, right? Right?

I’ve always wanted a big SUV. The Ford Explorer has third-row seating (for all of my non-existent friends), and if I’m in an accident, I’ll probably win.

Also, I need to get rid of my mom’s truck, which is sitting in her garage on flat tires with a dead battery. As her dementia progressed, she refused to let me touch it and it wasn’t worth the fight. So I need the…

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Bev Potter

Legal secretary by day, insomniac by night. Ally. BA, MA. Humor, pop culture, and things that make you think. My weekly-ish newsletter is bevpotter.substack.com