Friday, November 20, 2009

my little girl

I stepped out of the house the other day and when I looked at my new (used) car, my heart filled with pride. Yep, for a car. And I'm a chick, so it's not too much in my genes. I just felt happy that she was there waiting for me, all shiny and red. Full of diesel fuel. My little Neko, all ready to drive.

On October 1, 2009, when I was driving a much less desirable vehicle, our fertility treatments came to a screeching halt. A full stop really. Not a pit stop, but the stop at the end of the road. Ended right there. Mid-cycle, needle marks still fresh in my belly. My body wasn't responding, despite many different strategies to wake up the ovaries. They won't produce eggs. And that was that. 6 days later, a woman with her child in the backseat crashed into the rear of my less desirable vehicle (woman was fine, child was fine, I was fine. Something to be thankful for). The insurance deemed the less desirable vehicle irreparable (they wrote it off) and that's how I came to acquire Neko. No babies, but a car. Is that my consolation prize, I wonder?

There was a single song I wanted to hear all the time when the fertility treatments crashed, like wanting something so badly because it takes away pain in a minuscule increment. 'This tornado loves you' by Neko Case. I listened to it all the time in the rental car the insurance provided for me while deciding what to do with my banged up, now much less desirable vehicle. It made me think about how even when your heart has been ripped to shreds in grief, there is still love in the Universe for you. For me.

When I went to pick up Neko Scarlett (that's her full name) in late October, we finalized the deal and the salesman gave me the keys. I asked as an afterthought what kind of red she was. He said Tornado Red. This tornado really does love me, I thought.

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