"Money may not buy happiness, but I'd rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus."
----Francoise Sagan, French writer
While denial manifests itself in all settings, today's focus is on denial and driving.
When folks have motored about for decades, it's a routine that is hard to relinquish. And driving an automobile is directly tied to independence. It is particularly so in the country where we don't have public transportation and it is often impossible to walk to the store. And we need more than milk --- there are doctor's appointments, hair appointments, jobs, lunch dates, movies, and even funerals. In my case there is also a daily Sonic run. And the only expeditious way to get there is by car. So, it stands to reason that it is a rare adult driver who voluntarily relinquishes his keys.
But seniors by nature are resourceful. For years I watched an octogenarian arrive to our bridge club every Tuesday, by taxi. I didn't even know we had a taxi service on the north shore. But by George, there her driver was every week. Other players, who didn't live far from one another, carpooled. They weren't just brilliant at cards. They befriended folks with cars. And I drove them home, on occasion, for it's not a role with which I was unfamiliar.
For eleven years, I drove my mother wherever she went. Following the medical debacle she survived in 2000, Momma was unable to drive. The stroke left her with something with which we were unfamiliar - left neglect. Without medical training, all I can offer is a layman's description. Following the stroke, my mother's sight went to the midpoint; any people and objects to the left of that were not within her field of vision. So, if you were on Momma's right, nothing was amiss. But, if you were on her left, she never knew you were there. A real obstacle behind the wheel.
Then a seventy-five-year-old newly minted widow, Momma had a brand new SUV --- the first vehicle she bought on her own, without my dad to whom she had been married since 1946. She had driven herself to the emergency room, leaving her shiny new wheels in the parking lot while for weeks, which turned into months, she fought to live. With bigger fish to fry, Momma didn't mention her new car for more than a year. But once she recovered, she broached driving again. Between you, me, and the fence post, I knew it was an impossibility, and a danger. But we walked to her SUV, parked in my driveway, and Mom got behind the wheel. Just like getting back on a bike, she knew exactly how to maneuver it, naturally turning right onto our lane.
Without any problem, Momma drove to the end of our street. I helped her get turned around in the cul-de-sac, getting back on our lane and heading for home. And then, after having covered some ground, she asked, "Cecily, where's your house?" Momma had passed it; it was on her left. At that very moment, she knew, declaring, "I can't drive anymore." It was much easier, for me, for my mother to figure that out on her own. Her vision may have been impaired by the stroke, but she was sharp as a tack until the very end.
Yet, it isn't always so easy when people are isolated. Living with us, Momma had built-in drivers 24/7, in my husband and me and eventually her granddaughter. And Momma had shoppers. Once, I asked if she would like to accompany me to the grocery. "I'd rather not." Momma knew a good thing when she had it.
But back to the driving, it wasn't until after she was gone that I came across a phenomenal piece penned by Michael Gartner --- renowned newspaper editor, Pulitzer Prize winner, and former president of NBC News. My dear friend Diane Hunsaker, whose husband John worked with mine for years at Waterford III, had e-mailed it to me, and then I managed to find it online with the label "Nobody said LIFE IS EASY BUT IT'S WORTH IT" and subject "My Father." At age forty-three Michael Gartner's mother learned to drive, ferrying his father, who was also a newspaperman, around for over forty-five more years. He was her navigator and constant companion - they were married for seventy-five years.
When he was ninety-five and she was eighty-eight, he shared with his son "the secret of a long life:" "No left turns." Apparently, the Gartners had done some reading which revealed that accidents involving the elderly most often occur when they turn left, in the face of oncoming traffic. Citing eyesight issues that plague old people, Mr. Gartner, Sr., sagely said that three rights, which are much safer, equal a left. So, that's the route he and his wife took. They even had a secondary system, of sequential right turns, to correct any mistakes.
In 1999 at age ninety, Mrs. Gartner turned her keys over to her son. She died four years later in 2003. Living one more year, Mr. Gartner, Sr., died at 102. But they were certainly onto something with their no left turn rule. And it detonated the memory of my mother, who never would have turned left. Notwithstanding the danger in her particular case, I suppose she could have managed her errands had she followed the Gartners' methodology, only turning right. But I'm glad she handed me her keys.
And while it's something we all may face, it's not something I can yet imagine. On pretty days, I enjoy taking a drive to no place in particular --- putting the pedal to the metal --- a tradition with my dad. So I figure my daughter, someday, will have to pry the car keys from my bony hands. Denial. But maybe when that day comes, I can stave her off with a promise - like my mother, I will only turn right.
