Don't wait until it is too late to take the car keys away from a parent

I still live in the same house where I grew up. It's a two-family house and we've always rented out the top floor. About fifteen years ago, instead of having to deal with tenants anymore, I decided to move up there with my life partner, Erin.

Like everything else, the whole vibe of the house changed once my mother died in 2021. The house is full, in terms of material possessions, but it feels empty to me. There is an obvious void.

My dad lives alone now on the first floor. He splits his time between the first floor and the fully furnished basement. He turned 90 last July. Knock on wood, he is in terrific shape for his age. He still gets up and down the stairs with little problem. He was telling me this week that he can't wait for the weather to warm up so he can start working outside on the yard and garden.

For the last forty years, he has worn glasses. I know it has been forty years because he often tells me that he had perfect eyesight as an adult and then when he turned fifty, almost overnight, his eyesight deteriorated. Within a year, he said, he was wearing glasses.

So that's how I've always pictured my father – a short, bald, pudgy man wearing a hat and those glasses whose lenses darken when you're outside. He had some serious issues with his back when he was in his early 50's and some painful episodes of gout over the years.

Two years ago he had a heart valve replacement procedure. Last year, he had cataract surgery. It seems like since my mother passed away, he has found the Fountain of Youth.

But he is 90 years old. His hearing is bad. He does walk with a slow gait. His steps are much shorter than they used to be. He takes frequent naps. He is getting more and more forgetful.

In recent years, my brother and I have noticed a few more dings and scratches on my father's car, a 2015 Nissan Rogue. My brother would often joke when he'd come over and notice a new scratch on the car, "Hey, what's he doing to my inheritance?"

It was funny, but not funny. These dings and scratches were a little more than just a loose shopping cart hitting it in a parking lot. I was beginning to wonder if he was playing bumper cars getting in and out of parking spaces and wasn't telling anybody.

My dad always loved driving. As a kid, every summer he would take our family on the eight-hour drive to Toronto (with a quick stop at Niagara Falls) to visit my mother's family. Sometimes he would make the trip twice in a year. Three or four times per year he would make the hour and a half ride, mostly on the Mass Turnpike, to visit friends in Ludlow, Massachusetts. Almost every Sunday in the summertime, our family would take the hour long drive to Horseneck Beach. I remember him speeding past cars on the long, narrow, straight rural road that led the 10-15 miles from the highway to the beach. He had his fair share of speeding tickets in his life, and a couple of minor accidents. All in all, I always considered him a good driver. Obviously, in his old age, he isn't nearly as aggressive of a driver as he was when he was my age. That is a good thing.

Despite his age, I never worried about his driving until a couple of years ago. My father told me his eye doctor urged him to have cataract surgery. I had to schedule some appointments to meet with a surgeon. My dad knew he had cataracts for a long time, but never wanted to have the surgery. He was worried they'd botch the surgery and he would become permanently, blind.

It was around this time that my father was due to renew his license. The reason my dad was now willing to do the surgery was because the eye doctor wasn't going to sign off on his eye exam which he needed in order to renew his license. Therefore, no eye surgery, no more driving. Those are terms my dad understands.

It was only when I went with my dad to meet the surgeon that I realized how bad his vision was. My dad was legally blind in his left eye. I always knew that because he often told me about having had some disease when he was a child (I think it was meningitis) which caused him to lose the vision in that eye.

What I didn't realize was how bad his vision was in the other eye, as well. He had to keep going up line by line on the eye chart until he found one he could read. The line he could finally, barely, make out was the last one under the big E at the top of the eye chart which consisted only of a big "F P."

What that meant was he has 20/100 vision in that eye. The eye doctor and I had the same shocked, worried look on our faces when we looked at each other. The surgeon told me if my dad did not have the cataract surgery that he was legally obligated to contact the DMV, or whoever, and have them revoke his license. He could not allow my father to drive with his vision the way it was.

I remember driving home with my dad after that visit and telling him, "Holy shit! I didn't realize your vision was that bad. And you've been driving like that? You are not touching the car until after this surgery." He wasn't allowed to, legally, anyway.

This was the first time the reality hit me that there was going to come a day in the near future where he would have to stop driving. I was fooling myself the past few years by allowing myself to believe he looked as healthy as ever.

I was now forced to think about how that conversation would be like? Who would make the decision? Would he fight me over the decision to take his keys? How would that impact my life now that I would have to drive him everywhere – doctor's appointments, grocery shopping, visit family and friends, church?

I had been so busy, since my mother died, focusing on my mental health that I was oblivious to the passing of time and the effect it was having on my elderly dad. There still existed that part of me that I believe exists in every adult. I still held on to the belief that my father was Superman. He was indestructible.

For the first time, my dad and I broached the subject that the day was coming where he would have to give up driving. His very first point was, totally, predictable.

"And who is going to take me everywhere? You?"

That is how my dad is and how he has always been. He has always been very self-centered. I also believe that he has considered me, my brother, and my mother as his servants. You may think that is a little harsh, but that is what I have always believed.

My mother waited on him hand and foot – cooked him dinners, washed his laundry, made his bed, cleaned his house. His sons were there to take him to doctors and lawyers, to translate for him, and to make decisions for him (which he could later second guess to anyone who would want to listen). We were his personal assistants.

He went on to talk about the independence and freedom a car gives him. He would feel like a prisoner in his own home if he couldn't drive anywhere. It would drive him crazy. It would be the death of him, he said.

He didn't say it, but I felt the essence of what he was saying was that he was afraid his "manhood" would be taken away if he could no longer drive.

I know that we now live in the age of Uber, Doordash, and Amazon. If someone wants a ride, some hot (or, hopefully, lukewarm) restaurant food delivered, or just a tube of toothpaste, all they needed was an app on their phone. But we are talking about a 90-year-old, non-English speaking, elderly man here. I would not, nor could I ever, expect him to be able to use this modern technology. I had hard enough of a time just teaching him how to use the simplest of cell phones.

I explained to him that I would have no problem driving him places, within reason. I wasn't going to drive him to Ludlow every week just to have a coffee with his friends, but if he needed to go to doctor's visits, obviously, I would take him.

I also emphasized the safety aspect of him driving when he shouldn't. I explained to him that he wasn't just endangering himself, but he was also endangering the lives of others. What if he hit a van with a bunch of kids in it?

It was an uncomfortable talk. I could tell he wasn't happy about it, but I could also tell he had been thinking about the possibility. That is why he was doing this cataract surgery. He knew he couldn't keep driving with how bad his vision was getting. If this cataract surgery were successful, it could buy him some time – maybe until the next time his license needed to be renewed in two years.

My older brother later told me that he and dad, a couple of months earlier, had had a discussion about taking away his keys. During that conversation, my father seemed more resigned to the fact that he might not renew his license this year. He was asking my brother how to go about just getting a photo ID.

He also asked my brother how much he thought he could get for his car. That might explain my brother joking about ruining "his inheritance" when he'd see a new dent or scratch on the car. He may not have been joking, after all. Maybe he was planning on buying the car in the very near future.

Telling my brother one thing while he told me another was typical of my dad. He would have made a great politician because he was proficient at flip-flopping. Here he was being combative with me about giving up his license when he had been discussing plans to do it with my brother.

So my father had the surgery. It was an amazing success. I couldn't believe how quick and easy it was. The surgery took less than ten minutes. Three days later, my dad was reading lines on the eye chart that I couldn't read. His vision in his right eye went from 20/100 to 20/20. I was ready to schedule a surgery for myself.

My concerns about his driving, immediately, waned. I was relieved. I wouldn't have to drive him everywhere.

More importantly, I valued the times he would leave the house and I would have the whole place to myself. When he was home, I was always worried he would come upstairs with some letter or some "life or death" matter I would needed to handle for him.

I have always hated to be interrupted while doing something. My dad was the master of bad timing. He'd always catch me at the worst time.

Every day I was growing more and more encouraged about the prospects of him continuing to drive. He couldn't stop talking about how much better he could see.

I remember we had a bad storm maybe a month after his cataract surgery. The strong winds from the storm blew some shingles off our roof. When we went outside to assess the damage, my father was pointing out shingles that were missing on the roof above my second floor that I was having a hard time seeing from about fifty feet back on the ground. I couldn't believe it.

One day last week, I was running late for my Wednesday 11 a.m. therapy session. I noticed my dad's car wasn't in the driveway.

Damn, too bad I have to go to this appointment. I would have had the house to myself for a while.

Pulling out of the driveway, I almost backed into a cousin of mine who had just arrived and had parked across the street. We rolled down our windows and she asked me if I knew where my father went. I told her I had no idea and that I was running late so, sorry, I couldn't talk. I wouldn't have wanted to talk anyway.

About ten minutes into my drive, I got a phone call. I saw on the caller ID that it was my dad calling.

Should I answer it?

It's the "boy that cried wolf" mentality I have when it comes to him. Even though I tell him to call me only in case of emergencies, sometimes he calls me for stupid reasons like he can't figure out his TV remote control. Therefore, it is 50/50 if I answer when he calls. I decided to answer this time.

"Tony. I need you to come over here. I had an accident," he says, very nonchalant.

I yelled out some expletives and banged on my steering wheel. I didn't need this today (or any day).

I ask if everyone is okay, and he says yes. He tells me that he was at a four-way stop sign, didn't see a vehicle (a van – like the "what if" example I mentioned earlier to him) coming from the left, and he smashed into its side.

It just so happened I had driven through that intersection just minutes before. I circled back and got to the scene in about five minutes. I saw the minivan that he hit. The passenger side airbag had deployed.

The driver was still in the car. I told him who I was and asked if he was okay. He was a very nice, middle-aged, lanky gentleman. He said he was fine, but couldn't comprehend how my father didn't see him in the intersection.

"He was stopped at his stop sign, then he just gunned it right into me."

Uggh. A police officer came over to me and showed me to my dad. It was a cold New England winter day, so he was all bundled up in a hooded jacket, scarf, and knit hat. He was walking around as if he were a mere witness to the accident. He told me again that he was fine and that he has no idea how the accident happened.

I, then, saw his Nissan Rogue (what was supposed to be my brother's "inheritance"). I was expecting to see a little fender bender. Instead, what I saw was the whole front end smashed in like an accordion.

How is there this much damage? This happened in the middle of a four-way stop sign intersection. They both say he was stopped at one of the stop signs. How fast could he have been going? This damage to these vehicles is what you see when cars have accidents at high speeds on the highway.

Thankfully, no one was hurt. That was, and is, the most important thing.

My dad's Rogue was deemed "totalled" by the insurance company a few days later. It would cost more to fix it than it is worth. There goes my brother's inheritance.

I am happy to say that one of the first words out of my father's mouth after the accident was, "Oh well. I guess my driving days are over."

Yes, dad, they are.

I wish it didn't take an accident to make this decision so clear cut. I watched some YouTube videos and read some articles pertaining to knowing when it is time to take the keys from your elderly parents.

One comment I heard that struck me was a woman saying that allowing your parents to drive when they are old and compromised is like giving the keys to a drunk driver. Wow- I had never thought of it that way and a wave of guilt washed over me.

Another video was made by a lady with her baby strapped to her chest. She said when considering taking the keys away from your parent, consider the "Child Test." It is pretty simple. Just ask yourself, "Would I feel comfortable and trust my parent to drive alone somewhere with my child?"

An even simpler test would be to ride along with your parent as he/she drives somewhere. I'll be honest. I haven't let my father drive me anywhere in I don't know how long. I'd say at least ten years, but I also never like riding in a car as a passenger. I always like to be in control. But maybe I should have given my dad a sort of driving exam every once in a while.

I knew my dad wasn't driving long distances. The grocery store wasn't too far away, nor were his few family and friends he liked to visit. They were all within 10-15 minutes driving distance from the house.

He didn't have to take the highway anywhere, plus he wouldn't dare, at his age. That was the other reason I wasn't too worried (now that he had the cataract surgery) about him still driving. He still had his wits about him. He understood his limitations.

But another red flag I kept ignoring was the minor dents and scratches my brother and I would keep noticing on dad's car in recent years. My brother and I would joke about it, but we should have been asking questions of dad. I think I may have asked dad once or twice and my dad would just shrug his shoulders and say, "I don't know where that came from." Was he lying or did he, genuinely, not know? Either way, it wasn't good.

When I told my therapist about my dad's accident and how, now, I would have to drive him everywhere, she responded, simply, "Oh, so now you are his caregiver." The way she said it made it sound like taking away his keys made it official.

The bluntness of the way she said it and the way she perked up in her seat to, quickly, make a note of this moment in her computer notes on our visit hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe it is because I have viewed myself as the caregiver to both my parents my whole adult life, but especially since about 2016 when my mother's mental state started to deteriorate, but this didn't seem like news to me.

But my therapist was right, this was now going to be another level of caregiving. When my mother was sick, my dad still had a level of independence and didn't have to rely on me too much. I was taking care of my mother, but once we had to put her in a nursing home, that responsibility of caregiving was taken off my shoulders.

But now things have changed. Prior to the accident, despite living in the same house, I might go two or three days without seeing my father or speaking to him. If I could hear the TV downstairs, I knew he was alive. On most days, that was good enough for me.

Now, I have to check in daily to see if he needs anything – milk, bread, bananas (unbeknownst to me, he really loves bananas), or any prescriptions picked up from the pharmacy. A lot of days he has appointments. So do I. I am not liking the idea of having to do something every day or having to leave the house.

On the days I have to drive him to appointments, I, obviously, have to talk to him. If you haven't figured it out yet, or if you haven't read my other blog posts, I have never been, terribly, close to my dad. I respect him for being my father, but that's about where it ends.

Therapy has taught me there is always some good to be taken from anything bad that happens, no matter how bad. My mother died. I started this blog. That's comparable, right? Of course not, but starting my own website has always been something I wanted to do, but always thought was so difficult.

So I guess the good thing to come out of my father not being able to drive anymore is that I am forced to spend more time with him. Sometimes our conversations remind me of why I don't like talking to him. Inevitably, he will say something that will offend me and will, most likely, bother me for the entire day.

But there are also times, I must admit, where we have interesting talks about life, politics, and family. The more we talk, though, I also notice how much his mental faculties have slipped. Maybe he isn't as mentally sharp as I've been thinking and telling anyone who asks.

He will tell me a story as if it were the first time he was telling me, even though he told me the same story just the day before. Then he might tell me the same story again the following day. Sometimes when I am driving him somewhere, he may ask me where we are, even though I know he has driven through the area thousands of times in his life.

I can also tell something is not right just by looking at his face and into his eyes. I can tell he isn't focused. I can tell he is disorientated. Dare I say, I can sense fear in his eyes and manners. He doesn't do things with confidence. He is very hesitant.

Just the other day, I went to pick him up at my cousin's house after I dropped him off for a bit to visit his 93-year-old sister. I forced myself to go inside to announce my arrival. I stayed inside for a few minutes to make small talk.

Meanwhile my dad headed outside. When I got outside, I didn't see him in my car. I looked around and noticed him strapping himself into the passenger seat of my cousin's car which was parked in front of mine. I knocked on the window and said, "Wrong car." I left it at that.

So, in a way, it was a blessing that his car accident was a minor one. I am very sorry to the very nice, middle aged, lanky gentleman that my dad hit. I am glad he wasn't hurt, but I feel bad that I ruined his day and caused an inconvenience.

I never considered my father's driving could, actually, kill someone. He only drove ten minutes at a time and only drove on side streets where the speed limits were no higher than 35 m.p.h. How dangerous could that be? And ever since the cataract surgery, his vision has been as good as ever. He proved it to me during the eye exam at the doctor's office and when he pointed out the missing shingles on the roof after the bad storm.

Maybe I was looking for confirmation bias. I was only thinking of reasons that I shouldn't worry about my dad's driving. I was being selfish. I wanted to maintain my freedom. I wanted to enjoy those moments when my father left for somewhere when I would have the house to myself.

I should have been thinking of the danger to others that my dad posed. Again, I was lucky no one died. I don't even want to think of how I would have lived with myself if that had happened.

So my advice to anyone with elderly parents, or grandparents, for that matter, is keep an eye out for the warning signs that they shouldn't be driving anymore. Look for dents and scratches on their cars.

Go along with them on a drive. Observe their body language. Are they squinting to read signs? Did they not see a stop sign? Did they not notice the light was red? Are they leaning forward more than usual? Maybe they are squeezing the steering wheel tighter than usual.

Observe their reaction times. How long did it take for them to notice the car in front of them was stopped? Are they able to gauge, accurately, the speed of cars coming from various directions before crossing an intersection? Are they stepping on the break too hard?

Talk about it with other family members before coming to a final decision. Ask them if they are noticing the same things. Maybe even go with your parent on a doctor's visit and pull the doctor aside afterwards to ask his/her opinion. When the time comes, the doctor may be the person you use and will need to convince your parent they can't drive anymore.

Being the empath that I am, I know how hard it must be to give up your ability to drive. Just think back to how excited you were when you were 16 and you got your license. It seemed like the world opened up for you. You could take yourself to the movies. You could go alone on a date. You could drive yourself to school and not have to go on the bus.

Having your keys taken away as an elderly person is the complete opposite. Now you have to go back to depending on others to take you places. You can't just, spontaneously, pick up your keys and go to the park or go get a burger. You feel like a prisoner in your own home. Life may seem like it is over or it might as well be over.

It is a difficult talk that needs to be done at some point. I would think most elderly people don't voluntarily turn in their car keys. It is important for the decision maker to emphasize the importance of the safety of their loved one, as well as the safety of others.

Don't wait until a serious accident for the decision to be made for all of you. By then, it may be too late. I was fortunate.