What If It’s Not Safe Anymore? A Caregiver’s Personal Story About Driving Decisions
- Marguerite wolf
- May 11
- 3 min read
Every Mother’s Day, I find myself thinking of my mom—not just who she was, but the way she moved through the world and brought the rest of us along for the ride.
Her name was Sharon. She was vibrant, complex, occasionally a little wild, and always up for an adventure. She was the ringleader of our family chaos—the one who piled us all into the car for camping trips, holiday gatherings, Girl Scout meetings, and late-night “just because” drives. Oh those late night trips to Shop Rite....
She loved to move, to explore, to go. And she made sure we all learned to do the same.
It’s been five and a half years without her now, and I still miss her every single day.
She was taken from us by a driver who had been told not to drive—someone with a medical condition who made a choice that ended in a double tragedy.
The hardest part is other's knew this. It was actually in his obituary about how much he loved his truck.
It’s a truth I carry quietly most days, but today, on Mother’s Day, it feels important to say out loud.
Because driving is about more than just getting from place to place. It’s about freedom. Control. Pride. But it also comes with responsibility—and sometimes, when it’s no longer safe, it comes with the need for hard conversations and painful decisions.
As a caregiver, and someone who supports caregivers, I see this struggle all the time. A loved one starts to lose the ability to drive safely. Maybe it’s vision, reaction time, memory, or physical limitations.
But letting go of the keys? That’s not just logistical—it’s emotional. It’s grief. The loss of freedom is nothing to make light of.
What I wish more families realized is: this is not just a safety issue—it’s a love issue. It’s not about taking something away. It’s about protecting everyone involved. It’s about honoring the years they spent helping us get where we needed to go, and helping them navigate what comes next.
If my mom were here, I know we’d be talking about this. We’d be making a pros and cons list, probably while drinking coffee in a camp chair somewhere. She’d tell me a story about her own mother. She might laugh a little too loudly, and then she’d get quiet—because she always knew when something mattered. And this—this matters deeply.
So here’s what I want to offer anyone walking through this now:
Start the conversation early. Don’t wait for a crisis. Make it a series of check-ins, not a surprise intervention.
Include your loved one. Ask questions. Listen. Let them be part of the solution.
Create a transportation plan. Build it before you need it—rides from neighbors, ride shares, community options.
Acknowledge the loss. They’re not just giving up the car. They’re giving up part of their independence.
Lead with empathy. You may be their caregiver now, but you’re still their child, spouse, or friend—and that connection matters more than any rulebook.
Get a driving evaluation. Look in your area to see if there is a rehab center that provides this service- there are OTs that provide this service. It can take the emotion out of the equation.
I miss my mom’s driving energy—the way she got us all in motion. But I carry her with me every time I help a caregiver or client navigate a decision like this.
I make sure to thank other drivers who made this choice for themselves. Her story is why I do what I do.
And it’s why I’ll always say: hard conversations can save lives.
They did not save hers. But they might save someone else’s.
If you're struggling with this decision, know that you're not alone. It's not easy—but it is loving.
And love is the legacy that lasts.
