Revisiting: 'Hanging up the car keys'
A Dad/daughter conversation
<Welcome to Sandwich Season, where I explore the burdens and blessings of life in the sandwich generation—in the hopes of encouraging others in similar times.>
Dear friends—
Today, as Father’s Day approaches, I am celebrating my dad, who continues to teach me how to live well.
As I mentioned last week, this summer I am sharing some of my favorite posts from the past year and a half. This is one of the life lessons Dad taught me last year—recognizing when a season has changed, even if it means giving up something we love. In this case, driving.
It’s a particularly challenging part of the Sandwich Season journey, and I admire my dad for the way he walked through it.
In this post, from July 2024, I share my side of the story, but be sure to keep scrolling to get my dad’s perspective.
‘Can we talk?’
by Sarah
I listened with fascination as conversations on aging took center stage in this U.S. election season. How old is too old for various roles? Do we gain more from age than we lose? How does age impact our physical, cognitive and emotional states?
It occurred to me: These are the same questions we face every day as our parents—and we—age.
How about this family conversation starter:
“Mom, Dad, can we talk about your driving?”
Family history
Twenty-some years ago, I was riding in the back seat of my grandfather’s white Buick LeSabre as he toured my husband and me around his city. It had been a while since I’d ridden with him, and I soon noticed how nonchalantly he floated through uncontrolled intersections, not looking for cross traffic.
Soon, out on the highway, I felt him accelerating and braking among fast-moving vehicles while pointing out—and absent-mindedly veering toward—various crops growing in his fields. I dug my nails into the back seat and looked over my shoulder to see speeding tractor trailers bearing down on us from behind.
Later, after debating whether to get involved, I called my mom and told her that it might be time for Grandad to give up his keys.
This was not something she expected to hear. Grandad was in his 80s and still managed huge swaths of prairie farmland. Only a few years earlier he had gone on rafting trips in Canada’s Northwest Territories with people half or a third his age. Surely he was fine.
No, I told her. Not fine. Not safe. What if he gets hurt? What if he hurts someone else?
After thinking on it for a while, Mom stepped up and had a conversation with Grandad.
It took some time, but he did quit driving.
He also got so upset that he changed his will.
On one level, I get it. No one wants to be told what they can and cannot do. And aging is a sensitive issue. We do all we can to pretend it is not coming for us.
But the truth is, if we are lucky enough to survive so long, change is on its way, whether we like it or not. The only question is how we will handle it when it arrives.
Same song, second verse
Fast forward two decades. Last year, my own dad had a mild stroke. The doctor told him he would have to pass a driving test to get back behind the wheel, and there was no sense taking the test before he did a whole lot of physical and occupational therapy. I slipped the keys to his green Subaru into my purse, just in case.
My dad is a persistent, diligent guy. He went to his appointments. He did his home exercises. He focused like a laser beam on passing that test. My brother and I were skeptical. Even before the stroke, although he hadn’t had any accidents or tickets that we’d heard about, we wondered just how much longer he should drive.
Given what had happened when Mom talked with Grandad about his driving, my brother and I were anxious about bringing up the topic. We had just lost Mom in August and weren’t looking for any family strife.
A couple of months ago, at a medical appointment for my dad, I pointed out the elephant in the room. Dad had taken the driving test once but was sent back for more physical therapy. I’d been watching him closely, and despite the gains he had been making post-stroke, I didn’t think it was fair to have him hold out hope for getting back behind the wheel.
“Can we talk about this?” I asked.
The doctor looked at me. “No,” he said.
“No?” I responded, a bit taken aback. “We can’t talk about this? Or no, he can’t drive anymore?”
The doctor turned to my dad and looked him straight in the eyes. “No,” he said. “You are done driving.”
My dad looked stunned, as if the doctor had just thrown a Dixie cup of water in his face. I did my best to turn invisible.
Then the doctor, who I’m guessing to be about 60 years old, shared what he considers his acid test: If he were 30 years old and sitting in the front yard with his little kids running around, would he want to see my dad driving past? No, he said, he wouldn’t.
I watched my dad and waited. How was he going to react? Would he get angry at me for bringing up the topic before he was ready? Would he get upset with his doctor? Would he dig in and keep working to get back to driving, to prove us all wrong?
I would have understood any of these responses.
The thing is, especially in places like where we live, and where my Grandad lived, we don’t have easy access to trains and buses and subways. So getting from point A to point B can be a challenge. And because of that, driving becomes a part of our identities. It is a skill that enables us to do the activities we love, on our own time schedule. Driving ensures independence.
And being able to drive is an indicator to those around us that all is well.
Well, maybe.
In our case, here’s what happened next: That very evening, my dad called up my brother and offered to sell him the Subaru. My brother said yes.
I think we all breathed a sigh of relief.
Giving up Driving
by Jim Coomber (a.k.a. Dad)
Driving is something I’ve always enjoyed doing. When Eleanor (Sarah’s mom) and I would go somewhere with friends or relatives, I was usually the one who volunteered to drive. I enjoyed driving ever since obtaining my Illinois driver’s license at age sixteen. In my retirement I looked forward to continue enjoying driving—not long-distance cross-country trips but casual shorter jaunts within our home region of the Dakotas and western Minnesota. Closer to home, there is also the convenience of running errands.
But the stroke I suffered in late 2023, at age eighty-one, changed all that. Thankfully it was a light stroke, without paralysis or severe mental damage. But it did leave me with balance and reaction time issues. Driving was clearly out until I healed, but I expected to get back behind the wheel in a few months. My physical therapist thought so, too, and we planned to work to that end.
So when my doctor told my daughter and me that my reaction times would never improve to the point where I could be a safe driver, I was really disappointed. I should never drive again. My physical therapist was more optimistic, suggesting that after a month or two of further therapy we could appeal. But I decided I would never appeal. If somehow I was able to get behind the wheel again and had an accident, especially if someone were injured or killed, I’d have a hard time forgiving myself. To my mind it would be a chance not worth taking. Less dramatically, I didn’t want to be the old roadway slowpoke at the front of a string of chafing, fist-shaking drivers.
So I’m resigned to a more restricted life. But in my eighties that’s okay. At my age there wouldn’t be much longer to drive anyway. I live in a retirement home with plenty of activities, free ride service to appointments and events in our community, and a warm, friendly atmosphere. Plus friends and family who run occasional errands, give me rides to events, appointments, and our weekly jazz band practices. My son-in-law and I go on occasional trips into the country, something he and I both enjoy. I miss driving, but, thanks in part to all these helps, I’m living an enjoyable and safer life without it. Life without driving is just fine.
Wrap-up from Sarah
Thank you, Dad!
Even though I’m in my mid-50s, my dad is in his 80s and my mom is gone, my parents are still teaching me important life lessons.
Last year, my mom taught me a lot about how to die.
Now my dad is teaching me how to age.
I am so proud of and thankful for both of them.
Wishing all good things for all of you,
Sarah
Share your thoughts
What intergenerational topics are you discussing in this season of life? What helps you get through those conversations?
Last call!
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It is so nice, Sarah. I like your way, and your parents' way of doing things. Thank you for your post.
Amazing and super touching piece; I wish we all could have such sagesse and grace. Bless you