There’s not a vinyl bench back seat from a 1970’s era paneled station wagon anywhere, I figure, without the question, “Are we there, yet?, immortalized in its seams. Far rear-facing, or middle seats, those words ran upside the back of many father’s necks either every twenty minutes, upon seeing exit ramps, or a mother waking up from her passenger side nap.
I was just as guilty as my siblings on long trips to the beach. As our seven-plus hours stuffed wagon began its final leg, I, more than my siblings, uttered those four annoying words. More out of excitement, probably, than as an enticement for punishment. Boredom after hours in the brown stretch box could have been a reason as well.
Funny how it always worked for every child who did speak these words. It never seemed to happen coming back home. Silence ruled the hours. Human nature ruled the time. For us, school was fast approaching because our vacation – most times – was at the end of summer. If, some years, it happened to be near the start of June, coming back to summer work schedules (even as young kids) weren’t something in our bag of exciting things.
So, “Are we there yet?” .. was a thing. I’m going to presume it still may be? This I don’t have any personal experiences because I’ve had no opportunities to be a back of the neck listener. No chance to turn around and say, “Don’t pick on your sister, young man!”… Not being a dad has afforded me no opportunity to hear that four word phrase.
I do have a dad still – and was recalling that particular phrase when he and I were out and about the other day. Side by side, fifty years later, in a less rickety automobile, minus three humans, a dog, and polyester brown and orange shorts. Yes, just the two of us talking the day through when he asked, “Where are we going?”.
This question caught me off guard, but only a little. With his limited recall and short-term memory loss, I wasn’t surprised. It was only a few minutes prior when I did say we were headed out to shop at Sam’s Club. Leaving his facility shortly before that conversation, however, was a trigger to new stimulation, … new brain input. This is how dementia works. I find it fascinating.
I do enjoy watching how dad navigates his way around (and through) this remarkable time in his life. He adapts. He survives. He gets frustrated and calls me to connect, but disguises it as a need he wishes to be fulfilled.
“Where are we going?”, still hung out there.
The question was asked and required a quick response as we sat at three cars back in a construction zone. I could sense his eyes looking over at me with excitement. After all, he was happy to be out with me – in the sunshine – somewhere other than staring at the same tan walls he’s been accustomed to for a while. My reply came swift with little forethought:
“Well, I guess when we get where we’re going, you’ll know where we are, Dad.”
“That kinda makes sense, in a way, Doug. I don’t know what you just said, but I believe you.”
There’s a lot there … in a few words. We laughed the whole way to Sam’s Club – and, I don’t know why. Both of us found this exchange to be hilarious. Honestly, I was on the same mental track as dad. We connected and every second escalated into more simple moments of fun.
As is my dad’s personality, once arriving at Sam’s – in the public square (as it were), his demeanor change … back to business, “helping his son” by pushing the cart for some exercise. I got that and was more than willing to meet him where he landed, mentally. All good.
I write this to give hope to anyone helping a loved one with dementia. They are still driving their car. Yes, it’s quite different. You can still be in the back seat wondering, “Are you there yet?” with them? Are they safe and healthy while on their individual destination?
Just now, as the adult with them, patience, humor, love, and compassion rule the day. Also, the trip isn’t only hours, it’s years.
Along the drive, though, are rest stops when you can laugh with them – unexpectedly – while heading somewhere.
It’s a wonderful experience for me. Mainly because I never know what tomorrow invites in with my father/son relationship. All I know is …. if I could ask him, “Are we there yet?”, one more time … and have him answer, “Almost, the beach is just over the bridge …”
… I’d do it in a heartbeat.
DougHugs 