Dear readers,
This week, I had planned to continue our journey through the Grifted series with a deep dive into the saga of Elizabeth Holmes and Theranos. But sometimes, life pulls us in another direction. For me, this has been a week of quiet reflection—one where I’ve felt the need to pause, take stock, and shift gears. So instead of the usual exposé, I want to share something personal with you. This is a story about change, attachment, and how a vehicle can sometimes be much more than just a car.
Introduction
Change doesn’t always announce itself politely. Sometimes it arrives in the form of a tow truck or an insurance call. Sometimes it comes with snowfall. Transitions have been on my mind lately, especially with the loss of my 2018 Audi Q5—a car that carried not just me, but memories, moments, and love. This reflection began not with a crash or a sale, but with a memory of another vehicle, long gone, that once meant the world to me.
The Old Ford Escort
In 1997, I got my first car—a used 1995 Ford Escort. It wasn’t flashy or powerful, and its sluggish acceleration was often the butt of jokes. But it was mine, and it represented something priceless: freedom. I could wake up on a day off and just drive—to the beach, the mountains, anywhere. Not because I had to, but because I could. It wasn't sexy, but it was liberating.
Then in 2001, it was totaled. The payout? $3,500. Not a fortune, but enough to begin the next chapter: I used it as a down payment on a 2000 Ford Mustang.
Losing the Escort was my first heartbreak over a car. It taught me how we attach meaning to machines, how they become silent witnesses to our growth. That car knew my youthful optimism, my early failures, and the sounds of my favorite bands at full volume from that rickety old tape deck. Letting it go felt like letting go of a younger version of myself—and honestly, it was.
The Mustang Years
That 2000 Mustang became more than just a replacement—it was a companion that stayed with me for over 15 years. A symbol of independence, resilience, and evolution. I drove it through the seasons of my adult life. But as the years passed, its limitations became more apparent. One icy morning in 2018, while commuting to work, it spun out in the snow, and that moment crystallized a new need: I wanted something safer, something ready for whatever the world threw my way.
The Audi Q5: A Modern Camelot
Enter the Audi Q5 with Quattro cutting-edge all-wheel drive technology. It was more than just an upgrade; it was my chariot.
When test driving new cars, I brought my mom along. She had always hated the Mustang—too low to the ground, uncomfortable seats, awkward to get in and out of. At first, she discouraged me from including her in the decision process. But I insisted. I can be comfortable in almost anything. She, however, was the outlier. The car had to meet her standards, because I wanted this car to be hers, too. The perfect chariot to treat her like a Queen.
And it was. From the moment I picked her up in it for the first time, we began what I called our "Mom & Son Days." That very first outing was to a cozy Italian restaurant in Leesburg. It was snowing—the kind of snow that makes four-wheel drive vehicles slide sideways. But not my Audi. You could feel the Quattro system working beneath your feet, calmly redistributing traction and keeping us steady. It was like driving on a whisper of confidence.
She loved that car. Especially on cold days. I always turned the passenger’s heated seat on full blast before I picked her up. I’d open the door for her, she'd settle in, and every single time say, “Oh, thank God!” She’d go on to declare it the most comfortable car she had ever ridden in—unsolicited, and repeatedly.
For three years, we took weekend drives, shared stories, and made quiet memories. Then, in June of 2021, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. That same car that had once ferried us to brunches and bookstores now became her transport to doctor’s appointments and treatments. Her chariot adapted once more—from a source of joy to one of protection. And it never once let us down. We still had our Mom & Son Days though, but we knew our days were numbered. Making our day trips in my Audi Q5 even more precious than they had been before.
The Transition: Embracing Change
It’s strange how grief mingles with gratitude. Saying goodbye to that Audi feels like closing a book I never wanted to finish, ever. But transitions like these—from Escort to Mustang to Audi, from laughter-filled rides to quiet, steady support—mirror the ones in life. They remind us that every chapter, even the hardest, has purpose.
Each car represented more than just transportation. They were stages of adulthood. The Escort was wide-eyed beginnings. The Mustang was independence and power. The Audi was love, care-taking, and maturity.
The trunk button on the 2018 key fob required only a single press—not a double-tap like newer models. This made it far too easy to trigger. All it took was brushing against it while unloading groceries or carrying packages, and the trunk would open silently, wide and welcoming, quiet as a church mouse. More than once, I’d return to find it open—unnoticed for hours and drenched in rain. That design quirk is 100% what led to the water damage that weakened her electrical core. It’s strange how something so small, so seemingly innocuous, can change everything.
The final moment with my Audi was symbolic in more ways than one. As I cleared out her trunk and placed boxes into the loaner vehicle, I must have accidentally triggered the panic button on the key fob. But it didn’t feel accidental. It felt like she was calling out to me—begging not to be left behind. Despite all of her catastrophic damage, I could feel her desperately trying to hold on. I told her I didn't want to leave her behind. That if there was anything I could do, I would have done it in a minute but ruination was too expensive & sadly there was nothing I could do. I kissed her goodbye, told her she was a marvel of engineering, and thanked her for carrying my mother like royalty. It was all I could do.
Looking Forward: The Road Ahead
Now, as I explore what my next car might be, I find myself doing more than comparison shopping. I’m struggling to imagine the next chapter. What will it hold? What new memories will be made? I don’t know yet. But I know what I’m bringing with me: the lessons, the warmth, and the steady hum of gratitude. Though, with all of that said, my Audi Q5 will forever be the one who got away. She will hold an irreplaceable place in my heart. The chariot that kept my mom safe, stable on the road, best-in-class airbag system, and comfy heated leather seats. I'm in between working opportunities and am on a budget as I author my first book, so it won't be luxury. It won't be an Audi. I'll get the best I can, but I'll always miss that exquisitely beautiful chariot of mine.
Conclusion
Thank you for taking this detour with me. I promise we’ll return to Grifted next week, continuing with the story of Elizabeth Holmes. But for now, I’m letting myself feel it all—the loss, the love, and the quiet peace of shifting gears. May we all find the vehicles that carry us safely through life’s storms, and may we cherish every mile.
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Goodbye, My Trusty Chariot You weren’t just a car—you were a companion. You carried me through snowstorms, Sunday drives, and quiet moments with Mom when the world felt heavy. You were warmth on winter mornings, comfort during long days, and calm when the roads were anything but. We traveled far together—not just in miles, but in meaning. And more than anything, you were a heartfelt ally in one of the most important roles of my life: taking care of my mom. You made her feel safe, warm, and at peace during times that were anything but. For that, I’ll always be grateful. Drive on in memory, old friend.
With heartfelt thanks,
Mark
Here I shared my ‘Mom & Son Days’ in this post—now I want to hear yours. What’s one memory you shared with a parent that you still carry with you?