Doing the hard things

I remember a friend saying how much she admired me, taking care of the cats and everything else by myself, back when I was single in my own apartment in 1994. At the time, I thought it seemed like an odd comment. She'd been partnered for many years, but I couldn't even conceive of another person being helpful, rather than hindrance. My idea of getting something done efficiently was doing it myself.

Fast-forward a bit, and I was grateful to rely on Sandy's assistance, complementary expertise, and moral support whenever anything unexpected arose: cat health emergencies, human health emergencies, household appliance failures, flooded basement, fallen tree, and so on.

In June, I passed our car as I walked home from the grocery store, and I noticed that the back section (the part that doesn't open) of the rear driver's side window was shattered. The glass remained in place, but it had a pretty impressive pattern. I continued home and told Sandy. She was lying on the sofa, attempting a nap. I asked what she thought we should do; should we call the police? She wasn't sure, but she thought she should probably go back to sleep. I coaxed her up off the sofa and trudged up the street with her. She was not pleased, but she did it. It was our car, our problem. And when she saw the window, she agreed it was impressive and troubling; it almost looked like it had been shot. We took photos, moved the car closer to the house, and then I began to tape the glass in place while she called the police. From there, I took on the rest of the work, always checking in with her to see if she agreed. Twenty-four hours later, the glass was repaired, courtesy of our insurance company, and all was well.

No matter how large or how small the problem, my first instinct is to confer with Sandy. Even in areas that were my primary responsibility, I always talked with her before acting. I was the one who made the ultimate decisions about cat care, for example, but we always discussed together whether it was time to go to the emergency vet, whether we should change feeding schedules, whether we should add a litterbox to the first floor, whatever the issue was. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
And now, it's all mine to do. I talk to her, of course, and I imagine what she'd say or do if she were here. But all of the phone calls and Internet research and thinking and deciding fall on my shoulders. It makes even minor crises overwhelming and exhausting.

I'll take care of the house; it's worth it. But the car is too much trouble, and brings me too much stress, for the minimal convenience it offers. So after a minor and distressing car emergency yesterday, which took much of today to remedy, I think I'm finally ready to donate the car to a good cause soon. I'm making the lists of things to do while I still have a car, and I'll probably join Zipcar, which has several vehicles available within a few blocks of our house. It's a big move. The only way I've been able to embrace it fully is to know that we always said this car just needed to last until the house was paid off (and I paid it off last month) so when Sandy returns, we can get the Smart car that's been on her wish list since 2001.