Reflection on a Tragedy

Driver loses control of car, injuring three, killing one at bus shelter

Such an ache I feel as I read about this recent tragedy. It involves an 84 year old driver losing control of her vehicle, ultimately driving backwards into a bus shelter. One elderly woman who was in the shelter has died and three others were injured. The victim's five year old grandson who was standing with her apparently suffered no physical scars but will forever bear the burden of witnessing death at such an early age.

I wince as I think of the fear that must have flashed for so many as these events unfolded within a matter of seconds. The final moments of life for someone who simply went shopping. The scared child, the people trapped in the shelter, the anguish of the elderly driver. For the families there is so much anger and grief; so many unanswered questions. My heart goes out to all concerned as they struggle to deal with this.

The direct cause of this terrible accident are not public at this time and should not be pre-judged. However, the inevitable speculation has been repeatedly discussed and editorialized in the news media. "How do we determine the driving ability of a senior?" seems to be the looming question on the minds of many.

As the immediate family struggles many others are also coming to terms with conflicted feelings. It is impossible to contemplate how I would react if it had been my mother or frightened child in the bus shelter, or my grandmother in the car. How would I deal with my anger, grief, outrage, perhaps even guilt?

Personally, I must admit to guilt as one of the considered emotions. This tragedy has prompted me to reflect back on another time in my life. It was a few years ago when my brother and I were coming to terms with our own father's advancing years. We were becoming increasingly concerned about whether or not Dad should still be driving.

We had always known him as "the driver". As youngsters growing up in the suburbs of Toronto, no one else in our family performed this task. He was the one who took us places. He made sure that he got us to our destination, safely. He took great pride in his responsible manner behind the wheel. He knew enough to keep a safe cushion around his vehicle, and maintain an appropriate speed for traffic long before it became fashionable in driving education courses. He simply was very good behind the wheel.

As he approached his eightieth year, however, his reflexes were dulling, and others were beginning to notice. A family friend visiting from Europe who hadn't driven with him for quite some time made a point of expressing his concern to me. "He shouldn't be driving", he said to me very bluntly.

We had noticed that Dad seemed to be losing some of his ever present sharpness. (We later found out that he was experiencing the onset of Alzheimer's.) Fortunately my brother and I, in consultation with our mother, were able to convince him that it would be in everyone's best interest that he no longer drive.

We were dreading this conversation with him, but we knew we needed to have it. The biggest hurdle for us was confronting our father on the fact that he was aging. (In retrospect, I see now that we were also confronting our own aging.) More importantly, he was aging in a way that was going to affect how he conducted his life. This wasn't about getting him a new pair of glasses or preparing for a hip replacement. We were going to taking away his ability to immediately go where he wanted to go, when he wanted to go there.

"Just how do you start that conversation?" we thought to ourselves. No, It wasn't going to be easy, but we knew it must happen. As apprehensive as we were, we also knew that it would be far easier to have the conversation before an accident rather than waiting until after.

Although the exact words have faded from memory, I do know that it went much more easily than either of us anticipated. We gently but firmly started by stating our concerns. We quickly shifted the discussion to the responsibility that every driver has for for the safety of not only themselves, but anyone whom they may encounter while behind the wheel. This appeal to his sense of reason and responsibility for others proved to be the ideal segue. It became his choice to unwrap his fingers from the steering wheel for the final time. He ultimately accepted his new reality with dignity and grace.

Whenever an "elderly" driver is involved in an accident, inevitably, and often unfairly as noted above, the question we ask is: "Were they fit to drive?" More pointedly, I would suggest that each one of us will one day be confronted with the question: "Am I fit to drive?" Not an easy one to contemplate, let alone answer, without a little help.

We witness our own habits every day, and, unless something traumatic happens, we feel as sharp today as we did yesterday. Each of us, then, depends on loving family members and good friends to be honest with us, to help us recognize what perhaps we cannot see. This is a time when we may need help to be honest with ourselves.

A part of me feels that it is too soon to be contemplating my own inexorable path to infirmity. At the same time, though, it is the perfect time to be learning, as I have the privilege of witnessing my Dad move through the second half of his ninth decade. As I watch his struggles I contemplate what may be mine in the years to come.

Sadly for all of us, although eight years his junior, Mom predeceased him a little over a year ago. She had been his primary care giver and, with his advancing Alzheimer's we knew that he could not be left on his own. We were very fortunate to find a suitable home for him. The day before she died, Dad was able to tell her that he liked where he was moving to. "It's very nice, I like it." he said to her quietly, with his ever present gentle smile on his face. It was as if hearing this gave Mom permission to let go, and relax, knowing that her husband of fifty-five years would now be safely cared for. So sad. So poignant. So real.

It has been the biggest adjustment of his long and fortunate life. "I miss your mother." he said to me wistfully when I visited him in Toronto a couple of weeks ago. However, he does not allow such feelings to overwhelm him. He chooses every day to partake in the world around him. He has a smile for whomever he meets. Although living on the second floor of the retirement home he carefully uses the stairs. "I need the exercise. It's good for me." he firmly states, as he heads off to the dining room.

My Dad inspired me when I was young with the trust he placed in me. He inspires me today as I witness him now choosing, in his own way, to age with dignity and grace. If I can only be so wise.