soliloquy on a broken tranny

There is a countenance of loss. 
I saw today. 
And feeling in the throat. 
I felt today.
We sort of stood there with the mechanic in the shade. An impromptu meeting of the souls in quiet mourning. The inevitable. Kept at bay by prayers and a faithful mechanic.
Whispers of tree leaves. Dust kicked and flying in the arid heat and patters of dog feet as the dog played fetch with our daughter. Blissfully unaware of the pronounced sentence. Its implications written on adult faces. The sweet young "good girl!" and giggles foiling our grief.
The husband's voice soft and brows heavy.
It lasted longer than we thought. 210,000 miles. 
And the loss is yet a real pang. 
We have effectively totalled our car twice in one season. But the second blow is nastier than the first.
The implications, of which we had been wrestling with at the hand of other vices, were beginning to settle.
We are without. Not just means by which to go from point A to point B, but the means by which to acquire anew.