Alongside constantly dry skin and changes in every single relationship I have in my life, I’ve discovered another downside to grief:
I’ve completely lost the ability to drive.
OK, that’s a slight exaggeration. I can still physically drive but I’ve become a really bad driver since I lost Elijah.
Well, tell that to my neighbour who has a car that now looks like this
I can’t park at my local shopping centre anymore. Last week I tried to park in a normal sized space between two cars. After about a dozen attempts to straighten up and much beeping from frustrated shoppers waiting to get past me, I gave up and came home.
I also need to say sorry to Marks & Spencer. I’m really hoping my husband never reads this blog post (I might have to distract him with sex tokens) but the BMW very nearly ended up in the vegetable section of M&S on Friday night. Lets just call it bad reversing and never, ever mention it again.
The truth is, I have had a clean driving record for 23 years. My ability to “squeeze” was legendary. I could get into spaces that even Schumacher would think twice at. Before losing Elijah, my attitude on seeing a tight space would be “saddle up boys, you’re about to see some moves”, now I’m scuttling away, saying “oh I’ll never get in that, its way too tight.”
I miss being the female Lewis Hamilton and I want my ace driving skills back.
I fully expected that grief would have me crying into my large glass of Pinot Grigio but I never, ever expected to become a worse driver than someone riding the dodgems.
Shakespeare wrote “Everyone can master a grief but he that has it”. It would seem that’s also true of my BMW.
These days, I’m not in control of either things.
Please don’t worry, people of Brighton. The car is on its last legs anyway so I think I’ll just “Bus it” from now on. Much safer for everyone, including Marks & Spencer.