I Didn’t Realize It Was Grief Until I Was Already Crying

Patti Broadfoot
Aug 8
4 min read

A story about unexpected grief, memory, and letting go of my mom’s car.

Buying a new car should’ve been simple—and maybe even a little exciting. Don’t get me wrong, car shopping has never been my favourite thing. But I figured once I made the decision, it would feel like a step forward.

And yet... I dragged my feet. Not for a few weeks. Not even a few months. I avoided it for nearly two years!!

I kept telling myself the old car was fine. That I didn’t have time. That it wasn’t a priority. But underneath it all, something was quietly holding me back—and I didn’t understand what, until the tears hit on the way home.

It wasn’t just a car.

The day I purchased the car, I drove home in my old one — and that’s when it hit me.Not at the dealership. Not during the paperwork. I kept it practical, calm, like it was just one more errand on the list.

But as I was driving, something shifted.

I realized I was letting go of my mom’s car.

I hadn’t expected grief to show up there. I hadn’t even thought of it that way. But suddenly, it was clear: I was giving up one more physical piece of her. Another quiet goodbye I didn’t know I was about to say.

A few days later, I returned to pick up the new car — and this time, I brought my niece. She came with me for company, support and of course a ride in my new wheels! We took a photo. I smiled. It felt lighter. Easier. The hardest part had happened, quietly, on that first drive home when I realized what I was really letting go of.

Grief doesn’t always show up when someone dies.

Sometimes, it sneaks in later—hidden inside the ordinary.

That car had once been hers. And even though I’d been driving it for years, it still held so much of her. The radio stations she’d preset. The scent that lingered for months. The way she used to adjust the seat just so.

And the memories.

I remembered one day in particular—she and friend of hers and myself had filled the car to the brim after a shopping trip in Toronto. I was jammed in the backseat, surrounded by boxes. They laughed the entire ride home and for years to come about it. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and full of joy. That car held all of it.

And now I had to leave it behind.

What I didn’t realize then: it was a “linking object.”

Grief experts sometimes talk about linking objects—physical things that help us stay connected to the people we’ve lost. It might be a sweater, a watch, a coffee mug... or a car.

We don’t always realize how much meaning an object holds until we’re faced with letting it go. That car wasn’t just a mode of transportation. It was a bridge to my mom. A connection to her laughter, her energy, and the ordinary days that don’t feel so ordinary now.

Letting go of the object felt like letting go of a part of her—even if I wasn’t ready to.

It made sense to trade it in… but it still hurt.

It was getting old. It was too small for my life now—especially with a new puppy in the mix. It was slowly wearing out. The decision to move on was logical. Smart. Necessary.

But grief doesn’t follow logic. It follows love.

And in that moment, I wasn’t just handing over a vehicle.I was letting go of a daily reminder of her. One more small thread of connection to someone I still miss deeply.

She would’ve understood.

She wouldn’t have talked about grief. That wasn’t her way.But I know she’d be happy for me.

She’d probably roll her eyes that it took me so long. She’d want to know if the new one had room for “just a few” shopping bags — and enough space for the dogs, too. She loved animals. She would’ve wanted them comfortable.

She might not have said anything about the lump in my throat, but I think she would’ve understood it, in her own quiet way.

This? This would’ve mattered.

🟫 "Sometimes, grief lives in the key you didn’t want to give away."(– Patti Broadfoot)

If this resonates... you're not alone.

Maybe it wasn’t a car for you. Maybe it was a house, a shirt, a coffee mug, or the old chair in your parents’ living room. Whatever it was—you’re not “too sensitive.”You're grieving something that held meaning.

Grief doesn’t always look like heartbreak.Sometimes it looks like finally letting go of something that quietly kept you close.