You let us close the garage door before you were all the way in, so your namesake was shorn off in shame. You took us part of the way to Lake Powell, until you decided to let your heart run, but your legs didn’t know it was time to go. When we subsequently abandoned you by the side of the road with a note saying “take me and fix me”, you stayed put and guarded over the boxes of discarded fruit that simply would not fit in the caravan vehicle that took us while you waited patiently in the hot sun for someone to fix you. On the way back from that trip, when I went to the shop where you were taken, I had to jump a fence and avoid and keep an eye out for the junkyard dog- who turned out to simply be an elderly fella who just wanted to be petted.
When there was nobody there to give you back to us, I had to search the grounds for the man who fixed you- worried that I’d find him dead in a trailer. When he said that you were fine, I was incredulous. Were you simply cramping up? For the next year, you showed no signs of relapsing. But when you did, you really did. We had you fixed so that your heart would communicate with your legs and you seemed great… until we went to San Diego and your legs gave out again as we reached the summit of the pass that takes us to town. The fact that you made it to that point was a miracle as we could essentially coast the rest of the way to a respectable establishment. But there they told us that whomever fixed you before used voodoo and cadaver parts. We realized that we had been duped. But by this time, you were old. Was it still worthwhile to keep you going? Not our wonderful chariot… Not my wonderful chariot- for you see, the matron of the family had already written you off and cursed your very existence. However, I still believed. I still believed that you were a trooper and that you still had time. We put the reindeer antlers and red nose on you one more time this Christmas. Sure you made lots of funky noises and I worried that one of your shoes would simply fall off one day. Sure the kids knew the “tricks” to open your doors and sure you only acknowledged that you were locked every once in a while- no rhyme or reason. Sure, two strange dents appeared on your roof- as if someone had closed a garage door on you. But nobody fessed up. You may have had random wires hanging out from under the steering column, but by golly, those are simply age spots…
When we decided to drive to California for a week and we conspicuously loaded up the sedan instead of you, I think you knew it was close to the end. Even when the kids protested that the car was so small for a long trip, I saw that tear come from your headlight- even though you tried hiding it.
You knew that it was over at that time didn’t you? When I finally told mom to take some time to look into other options, she happily complied. And within another six hours, your replacement had been found. But don’t fret. We didn’t leave you for another of your kind- the trophy wife, “this year’s model”. No, that part of our life is over. The kids are old enough and there will be no more. The needs are different. Feel safe in knowing that it wasn’t you, it was us… it was us being done with you… Farewell oh Honda Odyssey. What an Odyssey it has been.