Emissions

My truck tags are due every September and I always wait until the end of the month to renew them. Colby's birthday on the 30th is a good reminder for me and Colby and I often rode over to the emissions testing center together. Today my truck does not pass inspection. I am shocked. At first I cannot make sense of the paperwork I am given. The words do not make sense to me. Then gradually, I realize my truck failed due to a "readiness sensor" not being available. The exhaust system is most likely fine, I read, but the testing equipment cannot get a good read due to the faulty sensor.

I start to shake. I wasn't prepared for this. I have to call the dealership. I have to schedule an appointment. I have to take time from work, call clients to reschedule deadlines, pay with funds that are not budgeted. This all throws a kink into my week, into my carefully laid plans. I can function with plans, knowing I have to be in a specific place at 2 o'clock on Thursday, or a certain project has to be completed by close of business on Wednesday. That I can deal with. That is orderly, safe. This, however, throws an unknown into my life and I am not ready to deal with that.

Colby always flew by the seat of his pants. I am the opposite. He could have dealt with this and before he passed, it would not have been a problem for me. But while I am beginning to function, beginning to get work done, beginning to have periods of time throughout a given day where I don't break into tears, I realize this is only because of my carefully constructed life. My orderly days. My more orderly house. I hesitate to say clean, although I have been cleaning.

The fact that a simple emissions test has shaken me so means I have a long way to go. The fact that I am not hysterical about it means I have come a long way already. But I can't yet get it together to call the dealership. That means finding a dealership, finding a number, finding a hole in my schedule when I can take the truck in, and actually making the call. Not to mention trying to figure out how to get temporary tags by tomorrow. Together those simple steps are overwhelming to me. One thing at a time, I think. One at a time. I make a list that puts each step in order, then fold the page so I only see the one task at hand. My heart stops thumping. My thinking begins to clear. I can do this, I think. I can do this. I can.