Rememberment, Chapter XXVI: The Last Joyride

I always enjoyed car rides with my dad. During spring, we would sometimes just drive around visiting car dealerships and test driving new cars. It was just the two of us, so I got to sit in the front. Dad also taught me how to shift gears for him when he gave me the signal to do so, which was fun for both of us. He said it was almost like driving with an automatic transmission. The car dealers often gave me balloons or candy or perhaps a cookie, and that wasn't too bad either.

Dad also never skipped the chance to pick up hitchhikers; it was still a pretty common occurrence back then. Whoever got the pleasure of riding with us would then receive a full dose of Dad's most apocalyptic gospel songs from the cassette radio. I didn't mind it when I was a little kid, but as I got older it made me feel embarrassed. I took great care to not show Dad how I felt about it though, lest I get a dose of the Gospel of Mark: "Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

One day, Mom had walked to the local Health Center after work for some gold injections for her arthritis. I was already back home from school, so Dad asked if I'd like to come with him to pick Mom up. I said yes and took the front seat next to him, as always.

At first we drove on as usual. He asked about my day and I answered, the music was playing and I did my part of watching out for other traffic, as Dad had taught me. But when we were about a kilometer away from the Health Center, the car suddenly started drifting towards the side of the road. "Dad, watch it" I said and looked at him.

He was pale as a ghost and his eyes were closed. I panicked and started shaking his arm. "Dad! wake up, we are in the middle of traffic!"

He slowly opened his eyes but didn't say anything. It was clear he was only vaguely aware of what was happening. I kept talking to him to keep him awake, preparing to grab the wheel if it looked like we were about to hit something or someone.

Finally we managed to get to our destination, and Dad turned the engine off, looking exhausted. Mom was already waiting outside the building. I got out of the car and told her that there was something wrong with Dad. Next thing I remember was watching the paramedics come and take my Dad inside, where they put an oxygen mask over his face. We waited until Dad was brought to the hospital, then took a bus back home.

After the incident, Dad still got to keep his licence, but it was clear that he could only drive for relatively short distances at a time. He also had to take in extra oxygen each day, for which he had bigger bottles for home and a portable one for travel. The doctor said that it was the beginning of the end for him, that his overall condition and his severe hypoxia would mean that he had maybe five more years to live.

He didn't know my Dad though, who soldiered on for another 12 years.