Chapter 1: Reflections on Freedom

Recently, while driving my father to dinner, we engaged in lighthearted conversation about the weather and family. Out of the blue, he expressed, "I wish I could ski again." I quickly reassured him that skiing wasn't as enjoyable as it once was—long lines, freezing temperatures. I recalled my own skiing experience from a decade ago; while it had its moments, I was content to leave the cold behind. Unlike my father, I don't miss it at all.

As I pondered my father's wistful comment, my heart sank. I moved to East Tennessee to be closer to him, partly because I was aware of his declining health. At 79, following a heart attack five years ago, he has faced significant physical challenges. With two artificial hips, a knee replacement, and ongoing back pain, his mobility has diminished considerably. I wanted to cherish our time together before his condition deteriorated further.

This summer was a challenging period as we navigated my father's health issues. He often experiences pain but is reluctant to seek help. We worry about his safety while driving—both his car and boat—but he insists he's fine, despite our concerns for everyone’s safety. By summer’s end, he ceased driving mainly because getting in and out of the car became too difficult. At times, it feels like I'm dealing with a defiant toddler. "I can do it myself" echoes in my mind. Yet, my father is not a child; it’s a frustrating, sad, and frightening experience.

Reflecting on my own experiences, I remember driving my daughter to school for eight years. We shared those 15 to 20 minutes discussing anything and everything. One morning, we were stuck behind a driver who clearly struggled with their driving skills. Watching them drift across lanes was frustrating, but it reminded me of the importance of transportation for seniors—getting essentials, attending appointments, and visiting loved ones.

"I think she should take the train," I remarked to my daughter, who was around 17 then. "When I get older, I want to live in a place with good public transit so I can avoid risking injury to myself or others. I’ll take the train."

As we continued our drive, we discussed the need for better infrastructure to assist older adults. I mentioned how the woman might not even realize her driving was compromised. I told my daughter that if I ever reached that point, she should tell me to "take the train."

"If I start acting erratically, just say, 'Mom, take the train.' It'll be our code for when I need to make some changes."

While we joked about this then, I wonder if I'll remember what "take the train" means when the time comes. My father and I never had such discussions, and while my family has considered the implications of aging, my dad has expressed little about his own decline—mostly anger and resistance.

Currently, my father is hospitalized, and I’m unsure how to handle the situation if his condition worsens. There's a significant chance he may not return home, and if he does, the cycle of hospitalization could repeat. I asked his wife if he had any end-of-life plans. Would he prefer to be at home? What are his thoughts on assisted living or in-home care? She feels equally lost.

I believe I understand some of his wishes, but I dread making decisions for him that he might oppose. Furthermore, I worry about potential disagreements between his wife and me, leading to more tension. A clear directive from him would alleviate much uncertainty.

I contemplate adjustments that could enhance his safety—like installing grab bars in the bathroom or lowering his bed. I envision him using a walker and going through rehabilitation. To me, these changes are akin to wearing a helmet while biking or seatbelts in a car; they enable you to engage in necessary activities while minimizing risk. Unfortunately, my father views these measures as confining and a loss of independence.

I see my own "take the train" moment as a means of preserving my freedom, however limited that may be. Ensuring my safety also means alleviating my loved ones' concerns about me. I wish my father could recognize this perspective instead of lamenting, "I’ll never ski again."

As we wait for my father to be discharged from the hospital, we are researching our options. We are fortunate to have the resources to consider different paths. We must initiate the "take the train" conversation with him. My hope is that he will embrace the journey ahead.

Chapter 2: A Journey Through Decisions

This first video features Duke Ellington's classic "Take the A Train," representing a journey that resonates with the theme of finding independence in aging.

The second video showcases Duke Ellington and his Orchestra performing "Take The A Train" (1962), highlighting the beauty of navigating life's transitions.