When my vision loss forced me to stop driving, I used to joke that all I needed was a good pair of walking shoes and a lot of determination. Writing my last post stirred up a lot of memories for me, and in retrospect I can say that this statement was just an oversimplification of all the adjustments I needed to make. Even though it was more than thirty years ago now, certain moments and the accompanying emotions still stand out.
I was especially sad when I sold my little car. I had bought and sold several vehicles over the years prior, but when I watched my little Omni leave our back yard for the last time, there was a sense of finality. My driving days were done and I know that I had a little cry.
Another sad moment came a few years later. I had been talking with our daughter. Jen said that she couldn’t remember me ever driving. I was sad to think that she didn’t remember me as the independent self assured mother who used to drive her around. I didn’t ever have this same conversation with our son who was a little older.
For most of the time in those early years of not driving I was too busy with other emotions to spend time on feeling sad. Mostly I was either frustrated and sometimes angry. I learned quickly that I needed to plan ahead. I started to make lists. For instance, if I forgot an item at the grocery store, I could no longer just hop in my car and zip downtown to get it. Either I had it on my original list or else I did without until the next time around. If I needed to be at an appointment, I needed to make arrangements ahead of time. Could Lyle drive me or did I need to allow time enough to walk or call a cab? There was no public transportation system in our town.
I have never been an especially patient person but vision loss taught me some good lessons with this. When you rely on other people for rides, you need to also depend on their busy lives and schedules. I tried, and still do try, to be grateful for their willingness to help out and not to be impatient when I need to wait if they are late or even in a few isolated instances, fail to show up entirely.
My sight loss was in April, and during that first summer I wore out my first pair of walking shoes. The coming winter was a more trying season. I remember one especially long walk taking Jenny to her piano lesson. It was bitterly cold. There weren’t any taxis available and so we set off walking. I think that it was one of the very few times that I heard Jen complain. Why couldn’t I be like other mothers who just drove their kids everywhere. As I zipped my coat up even higher, I must admit to having exactly the same thoughts.
Another lesson of a more practical nature was learning to be more careful when crossing roads. Of course, I always reminded our children to stop and look both ways before they crossed a street. Now I needed to stop and listen both ways before I stepped out. I learned and memorized the safest ways on my regular routes to work, stores and appointments. I learned to always cross at intersections. Even so I do remember a couple of heart stopping incidents.
Once when I was crossing in a marked crosswalk, I was nearly hit by a school bus which had just sped out from a nearby parking lot. I’m sure that my white cane even grazed the paint on the side of the bus. Another terrifying moment was when a car sped through a stop sign just as I was crossing. Moments like these just served to make me even more cautious.
Yes, without a car, life is different and adjustments will need to be made. I was fortunate in that I was young when my sight changed. I was fit and healthy and able to walk. My friends were also young and able to drive – even at night! I don’t walk quite as much these days. Lyle and I are both retired and over the years we have both made adjustments to the fact that he is the only driver in the family. Nevertheless my memories of the early years are still just below the surface. When I stop to reflect, I can easily pull the old memories out and identify with others who might be going through similar adjustments when it comes to no longer being able to drive.
