Although we don’t like to think about it, we know there will come a time when a parent shouldn’t drive anymore. Convincing a parent to give up driving is traumatizing, especially if Mom or Dad live in a rural area with limited access to mass transportation. Driving is such a necessity to get to doctor appointments, go banking or grocery shopping, or for any other activity. Parents want to be independent and don’t want to depend on their adult children to drive them around. I was reminded of all this when I read this article from the Arca Max Senior Living newsletter.
Twenty years ago, my parents were living in a rural area of Maryland. My brother lived not too far away, close enough to be able to help when needed. Dad would grudgingly ask for help making repairs but never asked for a ride. In retirement, he took pleasure in long walks and daily trips to the closest shopping center to buy lottery tickets.
Dad had glaucoma. His father, my grandfather, became blind from glaucoma. As far as we knew, Dad was taking drops to keep his glaucoma under control. What we didn’t realize was that he’d stopped taking the drops because my parents couldn’t afford the cost of theprescriptions. We learned when Mom appealed to my brother and me about Dad’s driving.
He had lost most of his sight but refused to stop driving. He needed to drive so he could get his daily lottery tickets and whatever groceries might be needed. At the time, there was no online banking, so he needed the car to make deposits or withdrawals. He needed to drive my mom to her doctor’s appointments.
However, Mom didn’t want to get in the car anymore. She was afraid that Dad would get into an accident because he could barely see. She used a relay service to call my brother and ask him to take her for her appointments. She confided in him that she felt Dad should stop driving.
This was too difficult to pursue alone for many of the reasons stated in the article I read: Dad was stubborn and would become angry if giving up driving was suggested. It could cause a break in the parent-adult child relationship. My brother called me, and we devised a plan.
My husband is a loving, caring man and suggested we convert part of our house to a private room for my parents. We were aware how hard it was for seniors to stay afloat if they only received social security to support them. We also live in a rural area in New Jersey with limited transportation and could well imagine the isolation and loss of independence my dad would feel. If my parents lived with us, we could take Dad to get his lottery ticket every day and just use the excuse that we needed to get something too.
With that in mind, Ted and I drove to my parents’ place. My brother met us there. Our plan was to get in the car with Dad to observe his difficulties. My brother confirmed that Dad was almost blind. My parents were expecting us; this was supposed to be a family visit.
I was shocked by how blind Dad really was. To see my signs, I had to get up close and sign almost into his eyes. Sometimes a sign requires movement to other places on the body. Dad would hold my wrist when my sign needed to move out of his eye range. American Sign Language has been Dad’s primary language his whole life. When he held my wrist to follow my hand, he knew which word I was trying to convey by rote. I didn’t say anything, but I was horrified.
Getting down to the matter had become easier. We didn’t make it about age. My brother and I focused on our concern for my parents’ safety. Mom sat quietly, watching. Dad’s response was predictable: He needed to drive because how else would he be able to get groceries, bank or buy his lottery ticket?
At that point, Ted and I stepped in and made our offer. Come live with us. We love to walk on trails in the beautiful county and state parks. There’s a store within walking distance to be able to purchase lottery tickets and other items. Dad’s eyes lit up with joy and relief. He threw his arms around us as Mom’s eyes teared up with relief. Dad gave his car keys to my brother.
Ted and I went back to New Jersey and began converting part of our house to an efficiency. It would be completely private with a separate entrance. We couldn’t afford to add a bathroom or kitchen to the room. There was a bathroom adjacent to the new room, as well as our laundry room. We could share the kitchen and they would have the run of the rest of the house whenever they wanted to socialize. Ted did almost all the work himself, installing wooden rails in the halls and down to the new room for my mom, who had balancing issues.
About a month or so later, the room was ready.
And then Dad died.
Mom said they were watching TV together. She got up and went into the kitchen to make tea. She couldn’t hear the whistling kettle and so she watched for the rising steam. When she got back to her recliner, she saw that Dad’s eyes were closed. She thought he was asleep and so she watched TV a little longer. When the program was over, she tried to wake Dad. He was already gone.
The death certificate said he passed away from atherosclerosis. Mom said later he’d stopped taking his cholesterol and blood pressure medicines too because of the costs. Still, when we were going through his things, I found a hidden note which said “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.” It gave me a deep chill. Had he just given up because he could no longer drive?
My mother-in-law was in a somewhat similar situation when she had to junk her car. She was in her late 80s at the time and although she had the normal lapses of memory and perception older people are apt to have, she was still sharp and active. We really do live in a remote part of New Jersey. Going to a doctor or a mall or a movie theater involves a drive of at least 30 minutes. Mass transit is virtually non-existent here. She wanted a new used car but is on a fixed income.
Our thought was to pool resources among her family: Ted and I, his brothers and sister. They all said no, she’s too old to drive anymore. Meanwhile, my mother-in-law was having a stressful time trying to get rides to all the places she needed to go. It was a no-brainer. A good used car became available and so we bought it for her.
She’s 90 now and uses her car to get to local places like church and shopping. She is aware of her limitations and when a doctor is 30 minutes away, she’ll ask if Ted can drive her. He’s always accommodating, and this has been beneficial for her and for us.
Someday, Ted and I will be in a similar situation ourselves. I don’t think about it because it really is traumatizing to lose the ability to drive. Someday it will happen, but not now.
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