Cars were really important in our house. In fact, when my sisters and I turned 16, we each got a new car. My mother, however, didn’t drive because of a car accident early into her marriage to my father. But my father loved cars.
My father – a Deputy Sheriff, Court Officer and Process Server – was the most charming, wonderful man. Sadly, he passed away 3 years ago.
The aging gods were unkind to my father as he aged. He had several detached retinas and a plethora of other health problems. Once he stopped working (because of these problems), his only remaining sense of independence was driving his car. He’d run errands, go grocery shopping and every Saturday night after church go for a beer (or two) and drive home.
One night, I happened to be driving behind him and I couldn't believe how badly he was driving. Obviously, he couldn't see very well – if at all. The next day, I gathered my sisters and my mom (yes, I am the first born), and told them that we had to stop our father from driving.
"He could kill himself, or worse, kill someone else," I warned them.
As I’m writing this, I’m filled with sadness and anguish. I can’t tell you how difficult this was – he yelled, screamed and drove the car everywhere. But, I remained undaunted. Ultimately, we removed the car. He really hated me for months after that.
We did have a full time driver for him, but it didn't matter. As it was put to us, “Charlie had lost his identity when he retired and now he’s lost his independence."
My mother passed away a short while later, so I guess the loss of his car wasn’t quite as important as it had once been.
But honest to God, a week before he passed away he said, "Tiffy, you think I'll be able to drive again?"
Hopefully, he’s riding around in a wonderful new Cadillac in heaven!
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