To the person(s) who stole my dead husband’s car

You took so much more than an object that did not belong to you.

I wish you knew that that white Subaru Impreza had a name because it belonged to a man that cherished it enough to personify it.  I wish you had seen the joy on that man’s face the day he brought that car home, the excitement he expressed when he shared his new purchase with his friends and family, the furrowed brow and dirty hands and sunburn around the neck on the days he’d spend hours working to make it exactly what he wanted it to be.

I wish you were there the day that I rode in it with that man for the first time–an early morning trip to an autocross event–the only one that he made it to.  I wish you knew that he never made it to another event because he died on his motorcycle while that car was being painted.

I wish you were there when, on the day of that man’s–my husband’s–death, the paint shop called me to tell me the car was ready, and I had to tell them that he wouldn’t be able to pick it up, ever.

I wish you heard the woman on the phone burst into tears and tell me that the car would be stored as safely as possible at the shop until I was ready to pick it up on my husband’s behalf–an act of kindness that I can’t imagine you’d ever be capable of offering yourself, because you are not kind.

I wish you saw the panic attack that I erupted into when that car finally made it home.  I wish you knew that I didn’t notice it was gone right away because part of my daily routine was a mindless glance just quick enough to bring me comfort without the hesitation that would bring on more panic.

I wish that you felt the relief that I felt that morning when I heard that there had been some car break-ins, because for the first time in months, I thought the shitstorm had passed right by me.  I wish you felt the hysteria that I felt when I realized I was wrong.

I wish that you could put your feet in my shoes, just for a moment–because despite my hatred for this situation and my anger towards you, I don’t wish my pain on you in a permanent sense.

I wish that you could feel how scary my world already is.

I wish you knew what it feels like to have your sense of security shattered in a time when you already feel like it couldn’t possibly be shattered any more.

I wish that you could feel what it feels like to just keep losing control. 

I wish you knew just how much emotional attachment and sentiment was invested in that car.  I wish you understood the pain of having one more piece of a person that you loved and lost torn away from you.

I wish you were someone that felt an ounce of compassion, but I suppose if you were, you wouldn’t be a thief.  A compassionate person could not steal without thinking about what they are stealing and who they are stealing from.

I hope that some day you realize just how deplorable you truly are.


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Widowed at 26. Blogging about life, death, and everything in-between. #LookTwiceSaveALife #ShareTheRoad #MotorcycleAwareness

One thought on “To the person(s) who stole my dead husband’s car”

  1. I kept Howard’s beloved Cadillac El Dorado for years. It was part of him I could touch and feel one with him after he was gone. My heart breaks for you dear Chelsea.


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