Goodbye Rosey

I remember the day I brought my baby home from the dealership. She was in pristine condition; white as a cotton ball with soft, comfortable interior.  We did everything together. We went to work, church, and parties together. We shared long naps and quiet drives all over the country. I named her Rosemary after the song “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes.” She was wonderful! We road tripped as North as New Hampshire, as South a Kentucky, as West as L.A, and as East at the Jersey Shore. She was my baby, my partner in crime.

We shared so many memories. She protected my life more than once. Busses hit us, drunk drivers hit us, and we slipped and slid into tree trunks and fire hydrants together. We ate meals together. (I’d give her some oil or gas while pulled over for a quick lunch.) We belted out music like no other duo ever could!!! We flew through yellow lights, and managed to get out of every speeding ticket we were ever pulled over for. Her doors would block me from traffic’s view if I had to attend to nature’s call on the side over the road. And every morning I would slap her ass and say “Let’s go!”

My friends loved her. She carted us from city to city, with always an enjoyable spirit. She was always filled with amazing tunes. AND she always smelled like a party, yet still kept it classy clean. Ahh, my Rosey was the best. She saw the best, the worst and sexiest sides of my friends and me.

Sadly my Rosey passed away 650 miles away from home. We had just celebrated her 100,000^th mile mark on this trip. She was in the final stretch of her last road trip when a rock flew up from the road and pierced her heart. With one last exhale, my Rosey drifted to the center of I-80 in Mokena, IL and slowly closed her eyes and drifted off to the great highway in the sky. Upset, I hugged her and begged her not to die. When we arrived at the mechanics, I was told there was nothing they could do. She was gone. With my eyes welling up, for old time sake, I gave her one last slap on her ass and said “Good game!!!”