You wouldn’t think it, but voting season this year reminds me of my mother and our last trip to the BMV.
I’m pretty sure this was two years ago, but honestly time has become so unpredictable that I wouldn’t hang my hat on that. There are some things that only happened two weeks ago that I would have sworn happened months ago. And there are things that happened ages ago that, to me, happened within the past couple of months. It’s not the lack of hard and fast schedule because even when I did have my desk job, I still couldn’t confirm or deny an accurate timeframe for anything. Whoever “they” are say that time moves faster the older you get. I can see that, but I’m pretty sure there are parts of my life that have folded in on themselves, confusing space and time. I suppose maybe there’s a positive side to this in that there are so many things going on in my life that the days just pass quickly. My days are so diverse that they fly by. Or there’s so much going on that it all blurs together and becomes one big pile of “thingsthathavehappened”. There are big things that have happened, though, that help me create points of reference. Once I determine the relationship to a certain event to one of the larger reference points, then I can take it from there and figure out other things.
Unfortunately, I can’t think of a good reference point for this story. Scratch that. I just found something better and more definitive than a reference point. I found a picture with a date. November 17, 2012.
Ok. So this did happen 2 years ago. I feel a little better about myself, now.
By November of 2012, my mother had already been without her car for a couple of years, but her drivers license was up for renewal. I may have already told this story, but I’m going to add a bit more detail this time.
By this time, my mother was already living on her locked floor. However, two years ago, she was much less confused than she is now. We could carry on a conversation. We could go out to lunch. We could get frustrated with each other. And she could still ask me regularly if she was ever going live in her own place again, get a job again, drive a car again, or find a man. These have been her big concerns over the past several years, although they aren’t listed in order of importance to her. Number one has always been getting a man. Leaving her “prison” and getting a job were close seconds and driving third.
The car, by this point, was long gone. Sold. One less payment to deal with, one less safety concern to worry about. We were truly concerned about her lack of cognition getting her or someone else killed if for some reason she didn’t understand a stop light or stop sign, or if she needed to make a quick decision in traffic. The thought makes me sick and extremely sad to even consider. If she hurt someone else, I couldn’t imagine standing in a courtroom with her trying to explain the situation to a judge and someone’s family. Ugh! Terrible.
Awful as it is to say, I was so happy when the car was finally gone. It really was the last major stress point for me. When she moved into the facility I was immediately de-stressed to a certain extent because she was being taken care of. But then when the car was removed from the equation, it was so much better. And THEN when she was moved to a locked floor, that was even better. Again, I know it’s awful to say that. But it was for her safety and for the safety of those around her. I could sleep better at night knowing she wasn’t going to get out at 3am and get lost in the middle of the city.
Even though the car was gone, my mom still thought there was a glimmer of hope of ever driving again because she still had a drivers license. She would hang onto my ever word, my dance around the subject and get me on things that weren’t lining up. My excuses for the car were all financial. Her lack of comprehension, extreme confusion, lowered cognition were NOT things I was going to discuss with her. That was a wasps nest I was too afraid to enter. I would rather take the chicken shit approach and blame finances. Well, again, even though the car was gone, mom would still ask me if she was going to be able to drive again. She would make comments about just being able to get out and drive around. I’d make some comment about having Aaron and I pick her up and take her around to places she wanted to know. No need to worry! Just give me a call and I’ll take you somewhere!
I knew full well what she was getting at. She just wanted to know that if she wanted to get out, go away by herself, do her own thing, that she could. Of course the truth of the entire matter was that she had, in fact, lost every aspect of her independence. And that was reinforced, whether she realized it or not, by her moving from the independent living section to the locked assisted living floor. That’s a step below the regular old assisted living section. There are plenty of people that are considered needing assistance but that doesn’t mean they have to be locked up. It doesn’t mean they’re a hazard to themselves and others. The guy in the wheelchair who can’t get himself in and out of the chair is technically in the assisted living section simply because he needs more assistance than others.
So the drivers license finally expired. I dreaded the day, and it finally came. I didn’t want to be the one to take her to the place where she would have to willingly hand over her drivers license, her last piece of independence, and then willingly sign that she was also giving up driving privileges.
But, on a sunny Saturday in November, Aaron and I took her to the BMV. We stood in line, and patiently waited to get to the front of the line in order to get a State ID. Mom kept asking me if there was a vision test, and I kept telling her there wasn’t one. She kept asking when she was going to be able to drive again, I told her that she didn’t have a car so she didn’t need a license. That’s the logic I was trying to work with. Again, chicken shit.
Another thing I was trying to be cognizant of was the fact that we were in line with 30 other people. I was trying to be respectful of her situation in trying to avoid confrontation. These people didn’t need to know that she was surrendering her drivers license.
And then we got to the front. That damned guy behind the desk. I quietly told him we were here to get a state ID. I handed over her drivers license. He kept looking directly at my mother and getting her to verbally confirm that she was willfully giving up her driving rights. I’m not sure if he thought we had her there against her will, or what. Clearly he wasn’t able to see that she wasn’t “of sound mind”. And I’m not sure why considering she thought he was Josh Mandel, our state treasurer.
On the top of the counter was taped a little form that said to make checks payable to Josh Mandel, or maybe it was about contributing to his campaign. Either way, she saw the same and thought this guy behind the counter was Mandel. Thus the reason why I associate this voting season with this event because Josh Mandel’s name is everywhere I go. There are signs for his re-election all along the freeway off-ramps and other places.
I truly have no feeling about the guy one way or the other expect for his unknowing involvement in the surrender of my mother’s drivers license.
After we got past the fool that was just trying to start something, we made it to the photo booth. She didn’t understand what was happening so didn’t realize there was a picture being taken. The guy didn’t allow her to take a second shot. Considering its no skin off his back and is all digital, he could have taken another one where she was smiling. Instead she looks a little marm-ish.
But, in the end, it didn’t matter anyway because as of a month or so ago, no one can find her wallet. I’m guessing it went the way of her glasses, but who knows. Thankfully I had taken out her check card before it was “lost”. Whoever has her wallet won’t get much out of the things that are still in there. Although it’s too bad that she lost a couple pictures of me.
Let’s not kid ourselves here. That’s really all I’m concerned, isn’t it? The loss of really cute pictures of me. At the end of the day, a photo of me holding an apple is much more important that some state ID.
And, besides, the photo I mentioned at the beginning with the date stamp? I had taken a picture of her State ID with my camera back in May because I kept forgetting to have her bring her wallet to doctors appointments.
It’s weird the things that remind you of other things.
Kind of like the smell of erasers reminding me of the roller skating rink.
My Mother, Her Dementia and Where I Fit 