This could be another chapter in my seven year old book.
Helping Yourself Grow Old is a program that lasts a while. In fact, I realize now that once it starts it doesn’t stop. We just keep on getting older. And as we get older there are always new questions that arise to challenge us.
Questions like: Is it time to quit driving?
This is a hard one. It feels so personal. The answer swings back and forth.
I brought my car here to the elder care home five years ago. Even then, it was a hard decision, and I first said no, but my grandson wanted to drive it here from California. He insisted on doing that.
“For you,” he said. “You know you will want your car.”
And I agreed, feeling it was maybe for him. He needed to come this way and did not want to fly.
And it was true that leaving the car behind was going to be hard. (Wayne and I got that car with a big red ribbon on top and a note from our kids.) And, like everybody, I can get attached to things I like.
I admit it has also been a bit of a bother lately. I had to think about its small needs, and sometimes I didn’t. The government insisted on registrations, inspections, new tags. I paid for these things, then friends took me to church, the elder home’s bus took me to the grocery on Fridays. And my car sat lonely in the parking lot while both of us got older.
In the spring I liked taking it for a drive. The streets here are lined with blossoming trees: white, lavender, pink, red. By turn. A week or two, then something new, all of it passing in a month.
When you need wheels, you need them now. I was happy then to have them.
But I hate gas stations. And those pumps know and hate me back. The machines don’t like my card. The pumps are heavy and dirty and make me leave smelling like gas. Maybe I just never outgrew my southern expectation that some gentleman would do this for me.
But then other times, even those cold days when I wished the heater worked a little more quickly, it was good to be able to jump in and go. I had prescriptions at the pharmacy. I had an appointment to get my hearing aids cleaned. The colors of autumn had arrived on the mountains.
When you need a car, you need it now.
Well, we do have a transportation system here. And I have friends. I could ask and schedule help. But for other people I have to think ahead, and I am independent. I like doing things for myself, even by myself.
There are dangers to think of though, so I did make myself some rules to live by. I would not drive in the rain. I would not drive when there might be patches of ice. I would not drive in the dark.
And then, because of a particularly trying and tiring experience, I decided to drive only if I knew where I was going. I would not look at my phone or a list of directions while driving. Nor would I listen to an unfamiliar voice, telling me where to turn. And part of avoiding distractions required that I not take passengers with me.
And then came the problem I had not thought of. My car sat in the parking lot for long periods of time, cold and lonely. It gave up, and when there came a nice day, I turned the key and it acted like it had forgotten how to do its thing. After that I worried all winter that it was dying of old age, all alone out there in the snow.
And this May, getting grayer every day with a 96th birthday coming at me fast, I calculated the score. I had driven for 75 years without being in any accident worse than a fender-bender. Yet, if there were an accident now, and the other driver happened to be male or female between 18 and 89, I would likely be blamed. Whatever really happened, it would be logical to conclude that it was the old lady who made a mistake.
So, because I don’t like making other people worry about my own responsibilities, I decided and made an announcement: I have quit driving. My car is for sale.
I decided and told my daughter Jan. That’s all I did.
A couple of hours later she happened to see a little note on another woman’s facebook page. Her daughter had a job and no transportation. She needed a cheap car. Jan told her where to find one.
Mother and daughter came; they looked under the hood and asked intelligent questions. They took it for a drive. They made me a very good offer, provided I put a new battery in it. I countered, lowering the price by a generous percentage but requiring them to get the new battery.
I really wanted to give them a good deal, remembering how happy I was when I first saw it, silver with that big red ribbon on top.
So. . .in two days it was all done. I mailed the check to the bank, since I have no wheels to take me there. I am so free. I don’t ever again have to worry about a battery or wrestle with that clumsy hose at a gas station. And, oh happy day, I escaped without causing a head on collision. In fact, I never hurt anyone with my car.
Admitting one’s age, I notice, has its rewards. I recommend making your own conscientious decision about driving, and when you have earned a chauffeur, take advantage. In your car or theirs, watch them pump the gas.