Too Old to Drive--a Huge Challenge We All Must Face

We will almost all face this horrendous decision for ourselves or a loved one: Is it time to give up the car keys? Everyone of every age clearly remembers their first set of car keys. It somehow feels like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It doesn’t matter if we got the car, too — maybe we just got a set of our parents’ keys. Still a milestone.

We gave no thought to the distant day when we would be unable to continue driving. Why would we? Our car keys, indeed our entire key ring, were symbolic. Often, we were just 16, and on the edge of adulthood, but surely not there yet. But the keys were a symbol of adulthood, independence, skill, and maybe ownership. Decades later, giving up the privilege of driving because of physical or cognitive changes makes for a heavy day.

There is no way for this transition to be happy or even acceptable, but there are ways to accomplish this task with less angst. At a certain point, my family realized we had to have the talk with Dad. He was 82. He had been diagnosed with stage one Alzheimer’s, and his changes were escalating faster than we had prepared for.

The family meeting

My parents had six kids, enough of a committee to shield each of us from being the culprit when Dad's driving had to be addressed. But we were Dad’s kids--he had been the leader. How could we usurp his authority and, in effect, ground him?

Dad was pretty authoritarian, “Because I’m the dad,” he was prone to say. But all of us, well over 40 years old, knew that was all in the past, and his safety came first. So we pulled up our big kid pants and devised a plan.

Actually, we devised several plans, pointing fingers at each other and intoning, “You tell him.”

We were in the kitchen, and at a point, Dad carped from the living room, “What are you kids arguing about now in there?” My sisters and I had tears in our eyes. My brothers just sat harrumphing to get the lumps out of their throats. Then, one of my siblings suggested we first talk to Dad’s doctor for advice. Whew. Reprieve.

We enlisted the aid of Dad's longtime physician. I made the call, explaining that Dad’s driving skills were deteriorating. He had had a minor fender bender, had tried to sell his brand-new car on a whim, and often couldn’t remember where he had parked it or where he was going. Ok, sometimes I forget where I put the car, too, but you get the picture.

His doctor pointed us toward the positive side — the joy of still having Dad with us. The joy of him still recognizing all of us. He was taking pretty good care of himself. Nice job, Doc. We felt a lot better, but still…

How the doc saved our butts

An ex-Navy guy, Dad always respected authority, especially medical experts. If the doctor told him to take medicine, then by God, Dad would take it. If the doctor told him to lose five pounds, you can bet that five pounds would be gone. Dad was the kind of guy who would consider standing on his head if a trusted doctor told him it was the best course of treatment. Lots of older people are like that.

Well, the doctor volunteered to be the heavy. Not taking a nano-second to overthink, we made an appointment.

The doc sat Dad down. They chatted. How’s the new great-grandchild? How’s life treating you? Normal, homey things.

Then the doctor said, “Rudy, I hear you’re having some issues with the car?”

“Yeah, a lady hit me the other day, and then I couldn’t find her,” Dad said. Actually, he had rear-ended her lightly and then couldn’t remember why he had stopped and got out of the car.

So the physician and the patient talked for a bit — about an increased dosage of memory meds, the natural progression of aging, and the illness. The doctor was professional, non-threatening, warm, and nurturing when he suggested Dad stop driving. No lectures or arguing. We could feel his sense of concern but also his calm assertiveness.

Dad listened.

He looked like he might object. I wouldn’t have blamed him. But, as I said, he always listened to the doctor. In Dad’s mind, not driving became the right thing to do because the doctor said so. This conversation removed the responsibility from us. It ensured that Dad wouldn’t be angry with us for taking away his car, something he would never have understood coming from us. He was our authority figure.

Dad stopped driving, and I don’t recall him having much difficulty with the change. He seemed at peace with it.

My family and I leave you with a takeaway

Know that, at some point, you may have to make uncomfortable decisions for a loved one. We’re living longer lives and staying active way longer, too. It stands to reason that we will all have to shift some habits and patterns to accommodate aging. However, it helps to put aside fear and guilt when facing these adaptations.

Don't be afraid of the decision when your spouse, your parents, or someone you care about needs to stop driving. Their life, other people’s lives, and perhaps your own may depend on your courage and wisdom. But you don’t have to be the villain, carrying the responsibility on your shoulders. It’s never a bad idea to consider enlisting the help of a trusted practitioner, counselor, or pastor.

Asking for help when we need it is one of the healthiest things we can do. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong or brave. It means providing unconditional love is more important than control or authority could ever be, and letting an objective person take the heat for difficult decisions is a fine idea. Then, you get to offer your strength in support of those tough decisions.