When your loved one can no longer drive.

Two weeks ago, my husband's Neurologist said it was time for him to stop driving. His doctor was pragmatic as well as compassionate. When we walked out of the doctor's office, he handed me the car keys. I thought, Oh my, could it really be this easy? I had been expressing my concerns for some time, and he always pushed back. No, it wasn't that easy. After we got home, he started expressing his disbelief and anger that anyone would think he couldn't drive. He had a great record. He said he simply was not going to do it.

I was glad his doctor was willing to call it, but I also realized that I had to be the enforcer if I was going to follow his doctor's orders. I hated that thought, but if I allowed him to drive and something awful happened, it would be on me as much as him. This was a day I had dreaded, but we both knew it was coming. More and more people had expressed concerns including our children. I decided to bite the bullet and took his key fobs out of the key drawer and put them away where he wouldn't find them.

Every morning for a week we had the same conversation about how he thought it was wrong and me explaining why this was happening and what others have witnessed. I wondered if this would go on forever if he couldn't remember the conversation in the first place. It seemed he went through all the stages of grief each day, but not getting to acceptance. Disbelief, anger, bargaining, denial, depression and sadness. I felt for him as I knew how important driving had been for him all his life from the time he was 15 years old. Some days I wanted to give in to give him relief from his angst. But I knew it would just come up again and I'd have to go through it all over again.

I found the most helpful thing during these discussions was to listen compassionately and verify his feelings. I also knew to not take some of the not so nice things he said personally. In a different state of mind, he would never say them or believe them. I told him if the tables were turned and I couldn't drive; I would be upset too. It seems important to him that I recognize just how hard this is for him and how awful it is. I also called upon our four children to have a family Zoom call with us to get their support. They each were able to express their concerns in their own way, so he heard different perspectives from people he knew cared about him.

Gradually over the next week he was able to begin to accept this new reality. The morning conversations became shorter, and he seemed to remember them. He goes in and out of feeling bad and we are working on rebuilding our life together in a new way - again. With each stage of this disease life has to be remade to accommodate the new needs. I tell him often, that we still have us and that I don't want to lose the sweetness of that. Hugs are many along with getting out of the house as he gets used to me driving us everywhere.

I'm glad I was brave enough to stand firm. I am so much more relaxed with him not on the road. And I see him relaxing a bit more each time we are out. We haven't had to have THE conversation again for a couple days now. I'm hoping he is getting over the hump, but I will just love him through it, however it comes up.