The story behind a Mustang, a memory, and learning to look through the windshield again.
A few weeks ago, I bought a car.
Not because I needed one.
Not because I was trying to make some big statement.
And certainly not because I thought a car could fix anything.
But after two years of surviving, grieving, rebuilding, and learning how to carry loss, I wanted something that felt like a fresh start.
So I bought a Mustang.
And then I gave her a name.
Tuesday.
Why I Named My Mustang Tuesday
If youโve followed me for any amount of time, you probably already understand why.
For years, Tuesdays belonged to Q.
After, Q passed I started to called them “QueDay”
Those Tuesday's were ours.
Not because we planned it that way.
Not because there was anything magical about Tuesdays.
But somehow those days became ours.
The day we connected.
The day we found each other.
The day that changed everything.
Even after Q died, Tuesdays remained sacred.
Every Tuesday became another reminder of the love story that shaped my life.
Another reminder that some people leave fingerprints on your heart that never fade.
So when it came time to name this car, Tuesday felt right.
Not because Iโm holding on to the past.
But because Iโm carrying it with me.
Thereโs a difference.
The Difference Between Holding On and Carrying Forward
For a long time after Q died, I felt like I was driving through life staring into the rearview mirror.
Looking back.
Missing what was.
Wishing for what used to be.
Trying to keep one foot in yesterday while somehow surviving today.
And honestly?
I think grief does that to all of us.
We spend so much time looking behind us that we forget there is still road ahead.
Recently I wrote a blog called Donโt Turn Back: God Is Doing a New Thing.
That message has been echoing in my heart lately.
The rearview mirror matters.
It helps us remember.
It helps us honor.
It helps us appreciate where weโve been.
But it was never meant to become our primary view.
The windshield is bigger for a reason.
Learning to Look Through the Windshield Again
God is still writing stories.
God is still creating opportunities.
God is still bringing joy.
God is still calling us forward.
Not because the past didnโt matter.
But because the future matters too.
For the first time in a long time, I feel Him gently reminding me that there is still life ahead.
There are still adventures to take.
There are still dreams to dream.
There are still memories to make.
Not instead of Q.
But because of the strength, faith, and love he helped build inside me.
In many ways, Tuesday isnโt just a car.
Itโs a symbol.
A symbol that Iโm finally willing to look through the windshield again.
Moving Forward After Loss Doesnโt Mean Forgetting
When I shared my new car online, most people celebrated with me.
Others immediately joked:
โSo whatโs next? A man?โ
I laughed.
Because isnโt that how people think?
As if healing automatically means replacing.
As if moving forward somehow means moving on.
As if joy means youโve forgotten.
But thatโs not how grief works.
And itโs certainly not how love works.
Buying a car doesnโt replace Q.
Neither would a relationship.
Nothing replaces Q.
Nothing ever will.
He was my husband.
My best friend.
The father of my children.
The person who helped shape so much of who I am.
His place in my story is permanent.
You can miss someone deeply and still laugh.
You can cry and still dream.
You can carry grief and still experience joy.
You can treasure what was and still be excited about what might be.
Sometimes God Meets Us in the Most Unexpected Moments
One of the funny things about this story is that I didnโt spend months planning to buy this car.
Honestly?
I bought it on a whim.
Life had been moving a hundred miles an hour.
Between losing my mom, raising kids, running a business, navigating grief, recovering from surgery, and simply trying to keep all the balls in the air, purchasing a car wasnโt exactly at the top of my priority list.
But something about this one felt different.
Maybe it was the color.
Maybe it was the timing.
Maybe it was simply God reminding me that joy is still allowed to exist in my life.
Whatever it was, I said yes.
The crazy part?
The dealership delivered it to my house the very next day.
And standing there in my driveway was someone else learning how to navigate life after loss.
My stepdad, Al.
Just weeks earlier he had lost my mom.
His wife.
His best friend.
His person.
As I look back now, one of my favorite memories isnโt getting the car.
Itโs watching him climb in for the very first ride.
Looking back, I donโt think itโs a coincidence that Al was one of the first people to ride in Tuesday.
We were both standing in unfamiliar territory.
Both learning how to navigate a future we didnโt choose.
Both missing someone we loved dearly.
Yet there we were, smiling in the driveway, taking a ride on a beautiful day.
Not because the grief was gone.
But because life was still happening.
And maybe thatโs one of the hardest lessons grief teaches us.
Joy doesnโt wait until the sadness leaves.
Sometimes they ride together.
Learning to Dance Again After Grief
Thatโs what Learning to Dance Again has been teaching me.
Not that life goes back to normal.
Not that the pain disappears.
But that eventually God begins teaching you new steps.
And if youโre willing, Heโll lead.
Some days youโll stumble.
Some days youโll hesitate.
Some days youโll wish you could go back to the way things were.
But eventually you realize God isnโt asking you to go backward.
Heโs inviting you forward.
One step at a time.
What Tuesday Really Represents
Thatโs what Tuesday represents to me.
Not a car.
Not a purchase.
Not a midlife crisis.
A reminder.
A reminder that God isnโt finished with my story.
A reminder that the road ahead still exists.
A reminder that I donโt have to spend the rest of my life staring into the rearview mirror.
I can appreciate where Iโve been.
I can honor who Iโve loved.
I can carry the memories.
And then I can put my hands back on the wheel and keep driving.
Forward.
One mile.
One dream.
One adventure.
One Tuesday at a time.
The Road Ahead Is Still Waiting
Maybe youโre reading this while carrying your own grief.
Maybe youโve been staring into the rearview mirror for far too long.
Maybe youโve convinced yourself that moving forward means leaving someone behind.
It doesnโt.
You can carry them with you.
You can honor their memory.
You can cherish what was.
And you can still trust God with whatโs next.
Because healing isnโt about forgetting where youโve been.
Itโs about having the courage to look ahead and believe that God still has good things waiting around the next bend in the road.
And honestly?
I think Q would have loved Tuesday.
Not because itโs a Mustang.
But because it reminds me that life is still meant to be lived.
And maybe thatโs the greatest lesson of all.
Final Thoughts
Looking back, grief has looked different in every season.
Sometimes it looked like surviving.
Sometimes it looked like learning to dance again.
Sometimes it looked like removing my wedding ring.
And now, somehow, it looks like naming a Mustang Tuesday.
