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When you or a loved one can’t and shouldn’t drive anymore
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In the recent, October 29th, edition of the NY Times, author Michelle Huneven wrote about her painful experience in having to get her father to give up his car keys. The title of her column is Car Thief.
I love to drive. When I lived in NYC and rarely drove, I felt a loss of control over my life. My father also loved to drive. I remember when my father had to have that “talk” with a great aunt who also loved to drive but she and others were no longer safe when she was behind the wheel. I think he probably had to have the “talk” with her numerous times. I don’t remember her exact age but she was probably in her late 70s. She was a very proud woman, a wonderful great aunt, and very stubborn. She had started driving when there were probably few cars on the road and most drove less than 40 mph, but where we lived in northern NJ, near NYC, had become very congested. My parents saw signs that her vision was deteriorating and they were afraid that she could no longer see small children when she was driving. She often took me or my siblings to fine restaurants and would point out various places along the way with her hand waving out the car window, talking almost non-stop. Also, in the 1950s, seniors did not get good vision care. I don’t believe cataracts were routinely treated at that time; at least, I was not aware of anyone having cataract surgery.
When my father was 72 years old, he was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer. After his exploratory surgery, he went downhill quickly and died a little over two months later. About two weeks before his death, when he had already lost a lot of weight and was very weak, he and I were getting in the car for a trip to the doctor’s office for his chemotherapy. He turned to me and asked if he could drive. I hesitated briefly and then said “OK.” With my mother ringing her hands on the porch and a look of frantic despair on her face, we pulled out of their little parking spot. At that point they were living in a large retirement community where the speed limit was 20 mph. We drove out of the retirement community and were driving about 45 mph on a fairly rural road with a moderate amount of traffic. I had to gently remind my father a few times that he was driving over the center line. After about four miles, he realized he couldn’t drive anymore, pulled over to the side of the road and told me to take over. I think that was a painful time for both of us.
