I’m very afraid of something I know is inevitable. It’s not death, or anything catastrophic, it’s selling my Jeep and no longer driving it or seeing it in my driveway every day.

Pretty odd, right? I’ve had the Jeep for about 3 years now and, unfortunately, it’s slowly giving up on me. I know I have to get rid of it eventually. I know why I’m so afraid of losing my Jeep but I have to get over it.

I began to drive it around after my grandfather passed away. It was his, and he left it for me under my name for God knows how long.

Three years later and his paperwork, jacket, beanie, and a few other personal things are still inside. For a while my mom tried to make me take them out, and even tried to sneak around and remove them herself. It would never work out because I would always catch her in the act or find the things and put them exactly where they were.

She always told me it wasn’t healthy for me to carry his stuff around like he’s going to jump in the car one day and use it again. I knew she was right, but I refused to clean out my Jeep.

It was like carrying a little piece of home with me everywhere I went. I suppose I don’t cope with loss that well. I eventually came to the conclusion that my mom was right – I don’t need any of his belongings in the Jeep and looking at them every day wasn’t doing me any good, as if driving his Jeep wasn’t already a reminder that he wasn’t with us anymore.

After that, I began to take some of his old belongings out. First went his paperwork. I really didn’t need it in there anyway. Then went his beanie, it was already old and needed to be taken out.

Little by little, I made up excuses for myself as to why they needed to be taken out. It helped, but as I got rid of each thing, I felt as if a part of me left with them. Not only that, but I felt as if my memory of him was leaving as well.

I’m afraid that if I lose my Jeep, I’ll lose the memory of him. Now as I drive it around, there is nothing left of his inside, all I have is that gray Jeep. I don’t understand why I’m so attached to his truck when I have millions of memories of him that are engraved in my mind and heart that I hope won’t just vanish.

It’s just a truck, it shouldn’t be this complicated. It’s very difficult to imagine myself without it but I suppose this is the last stage of my three-year grieving process, to finally let go an move on. Or maybe I’m just making this more complicated than it should be.

Like I said before, it’s just a truck, right?