When in doubt, ask...

“…I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm going to try with a little help from my friends
Oh I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends.”

- Lennon J, McCartney P

The elderly balding man, wearing a pair of grey pants and a light colored short sleeve shirt leaned against the driver’s side door of a red Cadillac sedan…clearly in distress.

He was holding the wrist of a grey haired woman, wearing a brown skirt just below the knee, a cream colored blouse and a light brown unbuttoned sweater – the kind one wears just to keep the morning chill away.  The woman was shorter than the man, and at first glance it appeared he was holding on to her as he leaned against the car suggesting he was in the midst of a heart attack or stroke.  I heard her say somewhat frantically, “Call 911 please!”

As I headed toward the car, it became evident the event was not at all what I thought.  The woman was trying to get away from the man, not trying to steady him.  Just as I got there, she broke away and said, “He wants to drive home!  He almost had an accident on the way over here, nearly killing us, please call 911.”  The elderly man looked menacingly at his wife and growled, “Give me the keys!!”  Just then a middle-aged man came up, quickly understood the situation and said to the man, “Please get in the passenger side of your car.”  He was a big fellow and had the kind of presence that carried some authority.  The expression on the older man’s face showed he was making a quick calculation, and that it was clear both myself and the other fellow were more than he had any interest in confronting.  He scowled, mumbled something, walked around to the other side of the car and got in.

The woman, still shaken, but with an expression of relief, got in the driver’s side of the car.  Just before she closed the door, I said, “Are you going to be safe?  Will he try to hurt you?”  “No,” she replied, “Everything is fine now.  Thank you so much.”

The flashback…

“Dad, I need to have your car keys,” I said. 

“Try to take them and see what happens,” he replied with a dark and defiant expression.

“Today was the second time you drove off the road.  The Parkinson’s is too far along for you to safely drive the car anymore,” I continued.  “Go to hell,” he retorted.

I took the keys, and can mark on the calendar, this was the day my father began to die.  The one symbol of independence his progressive and devastating neurologic disease had now stolen was his car.  He mourned that loss, and as long as his mind was good, he never really forgave me for taking them…He was gone within the year.

Wiser this time?

“Nancy, I think you need to stop driving the car hon,” I had said to her.  By this time, she had lost the ability to read road signs and navigated to places she still knew by landmarks.  Now that was slipping away and there was the very real possibility that she would either get lost or have a serious accident.

I wasn’t the only one who had talked with her about this, her daughter, Mariah, had also expressed concern.  In spite of this, I knew if I took her keys, I could lose whatever diminishing relationship I had with her.

I had learned a painful lesson with my father.  We contacted the State Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV), and reported her to be an unsafe driver.  This is an anonymous complaint system from which the State revokes a person’s license until they can take a new driver’s test, both written and practical.  For months she ranted about the DMV.  “I am a good driver!” “Who the hell are they?” “They don’t know me!!”

Dutifully, she got the State Rules of the Road publication and studied diligently.  By this time, she had slipped further and we watched with heavy hearts as she copied that book long hand, by now believing if she turned in the hand written copy of the manual, they would restore her license.  Eventually, the hand writing became unreadable as the project drifted away into thick clouds of Alzheimer’s filling her mind like a smudge bomb exploding in the basement of an old home; invading every room with black, impenetrable smoke.  Yeah…it finally went away, but like my father before her…it hurt.

Déjà vu…

Until close to the end, Molly’s mother never lost hope she would be back in the car, running errands, shopping and going to church.  It had been a couple of years since she had fractured her pelvis, survived hospital infections and health relapses…none of which seemed to dissuade her from the belief she would drive again.

It was different for her.  My father had both mental and physical issues in his last years, and Nancy had simply slipped away into some unknown cognitive spider web of a reality only she understood.

Mary? Her mind was good and clear and engaged, nearly to the end.  Her tiny, 80 plus year old body fought with everything it had, and yet the battle could not be won as she slipped away, inches at a time.  Oh, she probably knew at some point she might not drive again, but she never gave up hope…never gave up hope…but in the end…gave up hope…  As her world began to close in on her, you could sense the end was near.

What about me?

Having had these experiences as life lessons, has made me wonder if I might be able to change the dynamics of the aging game in my life. I have had conversations with a small number of people in whom I have significant trust. The conversations?  If they tell me I need to make adjustments to my independence…I will listen.  If they say I can no longer safely drive…I will give them my keys.  If they express that Molly is no longer able to manage me…I will accept necessary changes.

Yes indeed, I have had these open, intimate and sensitive conversations, because I do not want to be unsafe either to myself or to those I deeply love.

This, of course, is an untested hypothesis.  Will talking openly about these things make any difference?  Will I be able say, as I look out through the windows of my life and mind, “Yes, I understand, you are right…whatever you think is best.”  

To be frank, I have no idea!

I can only hope that by acknowledging the downward glideslope of my life...by living every moment I can in a life promoting way, and embracing with enthusiasm the natural process by which I prepare for the transition that comes to every living creature at the end of this part of their journey, I will be grateful in those moments I cannot see without help, for those in whom there has been a collective investment of love and trust…

By the way, anybody seen my car keys?

- ted