I bid adieu to a lifelong friend last month. It wasn't of the human variety or even living – it was my 1988 Ford Festiva.

I've written about her in this space once before. The Festiva is a four-speed compact that more closely resembles a pregnant roller skate than a vehicle. I inherited her from my grandfather, who drove the go-kart since I was a wee tyke. I kept the "little white car" humming from my freshman year of high school until her departure from my back yard last month – a proud feat, if I do say so myself.

I hadn't driven her as much as I would have liked to in recent years. She leaked oil and needed a new exhaust pipe, and the tin can-like body didn't give me much assuredness that it was safe to have my kids inside. She mostly sat by the back garage for the past three years and only made occasional road trips during the summer or fall.

I felt awful for letting her sit there and rot. I tried to find her a new home 18 months ago, but there were no takers and she was forced to sit in purgatory even longer. I was reminded of the Festiva's cruel fate every time I looked out the window and it wore on my heart. She didn't deserve that.

My worried mind was soothed one chilly Saturday afternoon in January. While hanging a shelf in the living room, I noticed a truck parked by the curb and an unknown man staring at my house from the driveway. This was decidedly odd, so I went outside to see why he was in the business of making me feel weird.

My guard went down as soon as he mentioned the white car in the back. I assured him that it was indeed mine, and that he could buy it for the right price. We headed to the backyard to jump the battery and get the engine running, which delighted my uninvited guest. I told him the classic car was his for $400. He pointed out everything that was wrong with her, which was admittedly a lot, and countered with $250. I countered that with $350, and he then threw out $300. That was good enough for me and he took my prized Festiva away that day.

I'm at peace with the car's departure. The buyer seemed to have a high car IQ and was committed to fixing her up, which is more than I can say. Any spare money we might have accumulated was certainly never going into the Festiva, and she was basically waiting for a trip to the salvage yard. Like an old dog you can't bring to a new apartment, I was glad she found a good home with a loving owner.

I only have the memories now. There are many and I will miss driving her. All good things must come to an end, though, and I hope my beloved Festiva enjoys new life with her new owner.

Fly on, Festiva, fly on.

Nick Pedley is the news editor of The Hartley Sentinel-The Everly/Royal News.