Cars are simply machines that get us from one place to another. Fill them up with gas and replace the tires when the old ones wear out. I usually get attached to vehicles because they’re more than a machine to me.

Such is the case with a car we just traded in. We bought a Highlander back in 2015, and she safely transported me over 170,000 miles. Some of those miles included trips to the beaches in Gulf Shores, Ala. and touring wineries in the Hill Country.

Most of the miles were from every-day life – going to and from work, trips to the grocery store or taking grandchildren from our house to theirs. I felt safe in that big car, just as I did as a teenage driver.

My first car was an old Pontiac Executive. The car was like a boat – four of us could sit in the front seat with no problem. My dad gave it to his teenagers when he wanted a new Cadillac, and we were thrilled.

That car took a young teenager everywhere she wanted to go and it was a sad day when dad sold the car for another Caddy.

The first car I bought was a white hatchback Honda Civic — $1,995. That little car took my toddler son and me everywhere – to work, day care, the grocery store and a summer trip to Florida.

We traded that car for a mini-van when our second son was coming along. I loved the mini-vans we had. The boys were free to litter the floor with toys and dropped chicken nuggets. There were permanent indentations in the vinyl from where car seats had been belted in for years.

When the boys were teens, they purchased their own cars, and a mini-van was no longer needed. I bought a sedan and that car became my crying space.

My dad passed away, and I grieved for him in the car. The Mazda was a safe place to cry for him, an almost daily occurrence that first six months.

Someone rear-ended me one rainy evening, and the body shop told us the car was totaled. I remembered saying a prayer of thanks to the car for giving me a safe space when I needed it.

We replaced the crying car with a bigger sedan, and that car fit me quite well – not too big, not too small.

But when grandchild number four was due and number five joined the clan, we needed a vehicle with enough room for all the grandkids. The Highlander had room for all the grandchildren and two adults, just the right number of seats we needed.

That Highlander was my trusty companion – taking me back and forth everywhere I went with plenty of room for luggage, groceries, bikes, cameras and gifts.

She transported our grandchildren to museums, parks and the beach. She didn’t mind dirt, sand, spilled drinks or having Legos underneath the seats.

Our Highlander was reliable and was sometimes a place where I could sing as loud and off-key as I wanted or cry after visiting the cemetery.

But she was showing her age. There were creaks and rattles, parts were wearing out and traveling long distances were becoming chancy. After all, the old girl was seven years old and had many miles on her.

Still, when we traded her in, I felt guilty. Sure, the Highlander was only a car, an inanimate object, but with her, I’d felt safe to take a quiet ride or a noisy one.

I could complain in that car, whine about the unfairness of life or roll the windows down and enjoy a calming ride in the country. On particularly rough days, I could howl at the sky and the car never complained.

The car was a comfortable friend.

I believe this next vehicle will live up to the legacy of the one before her, but the bar is high.

I simply hope the next owner of our old car finds a friend in her, just like I did.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.