Bittersweet: How a 1994 Honda Accord Made Me Cry (Katie's Post)

Our very first car was bought in Ellensburg in the summer of 2004. We were engaged, in college, and poor. We found a 1994 Honda Accord with a CD player, cruise control, and a sunroof. What else could you need?

We drove that car all the way down to Alamosa, Colorado, when Sam tried a Masters program down there one summer. He decided he didn't like other people telling him how to do his artwork, so it was just a 3 week trip for us. We took it to Santa Fe, Colorado Springs, Yellowstone. We were going to take it on our very first camping trip down the Washington, Oregon and California coastline. But on the first night of our trip, Sam got rear ended in Seattle. So we ended up taking a rental car (which incidentally got backed into in San Francisco. Ironic.)

We filled it up with all of our belongings and moved it to Yakima, where it got broken into about 5 times. It also got stolen in Yakima (all they took was the CD player and some burned CDs. I'm sure they were disappointed by my CD collection of Norah Jones and Dave Matthews.)

We picked up Lucy and took her home from the vet in that car. She loved to hang her head out the window, which she can't do so easily in our Honda Fit.

It's weird that we get attached to such objects in our lives. I remember my parents sold this gray couch when I was little. I literally cried when they sold it. A couch. Cried. It's strange.

But we have a lot of great memories tied up in that car. And today we sold it. It made me extremely sad to see it drive away, feeling like I was losing something really special. Silly, I know. We're starting to pack up our house, put it on the market. And I know that selling this house will make me much sadder than selling a car. But it's all part of the process. Bittersweet. One less thing to worry about when we move. One more step to saying goodbye.

The money we got from selling the Accord will go towards buying another car in Zagreb, which will surely carry even more wonderful memories.