One of the many cute and quirky things my parents did regularly in their golden years was something they referred to as “transportation bonding.” It typically consisted of my dad driving my mom somewhere that only she needed to go. However, they used it as an opportunity to spend quality time together during the ride to/from their destination. Transportation bonding is something Bob and I have started doing more lately and we often name it, as we remember my parents with love, when we head out on our journeys together.
Both of my parents died at unexpected times, two years apart, with little warning that the end was near. Some of the many things that bring me comfort in my grief are the memories I have of getting to spend quality time with each of them two days prior to their deaths. These days included a lot of transportation bonding, just the two of us, and I have vivid recollections of our conversations.
For Dad, it was three years ago yesterday, Tuesday, June 29, 2021 — two days before he died on Thursday, July 1, 2021.
For Mom, it was last year on Tuesday, July 11 (my sister Meg’s birthday) — two days before she died on Thursday, July 13, 2023.
Dad and my last instance of transportation bonding consisted of my driving him to preoperative appointments for blood work and a COVID test, prior to the angiogram he was scheduled to have on Friday, July 2, 2021 (the day after he died), hopefully followed by a Transcatheter Aortic Valve Replacement (TAVR) later that month. One of the reasons I accompanied Dad to these appointments is that my first colonoscopy was scheduled for the same date as Dad’s angiogram. So we had worked out that Meg would take Dad for his procedure that day, so I didn’t have to reschedule my own, and I would be with him earlier in the week.
I appreciate being able to picture and remember specific moments from that day with Dad. It started with my picking him up from the front entrance to Three Crowns Park (TCP) — where Mom and he lived at the time and driving him in my Orange VW Beetle, which still felt new (to me), after owning it just over a year at that point. Dad thought my Beetle was cute and got a kick out of riding in it with me.
I recall many of our conversations in the car that day, including Dad commenting how proud he was that his oldest grandchild, Sean, had recently passed the drivers test and gotten their license. Dad also commented on what a talented and creative artist Gail is, referring specifically to a drawing they had done of/for Sean before they left to work as a Junior/J-staff member at YMCA Camp Echo that summer. We discussed my upcoming second interview for the first job I would go on to have with Northwestern University (NU) and Dad gave me tips on how to prepare, including encouraging me not to pretend to know more than I do. Dad suggested I share that when I don’t know about/how to do something I know where/how to learn/find out. Dad also was aware that my first colonoscopy was approaching later that week and amused himself several times by saying, “no shit!”
Another special memory from that last day I got to spend with Dad is when I introduced him to one of my (new at the time) favorite songs, “Orpheus” by Sara Bareilles, as we were riding together. Over the years we loved sharing meaningful songs, musicians/groups and lyrics with each other. Dad asked me to turn up the volume, so he could hear it better, and I am grateful we had that experience. As I was writing this blog post (which I’ve done over several days), “Orpheus” came on my Indigo Girls Pandora music station that I was listening to, which felt like a sign and prompted me to share this.
Towards the end of our transportation bonding that day, Dad received a call from a staff member at TCP who wanted to interview him. Mom and Dad had moved from independent to assisted living about a month before and part of the transition included their care team’s effort to get to know them better. Dad chose to take the call, as we rode home together, and I enjoyed listening to him answer the interview questions. He spoke of my Mom, my sister Meg, me and his grandkids — all of whom he adored. Towards the end of the call, I remember suggesting Dad share what a big Chicago Cubs baseball fan he was. Lastly, as we got closer to returning to TCP, I asked if Dad would like for me to take a route that would allow us to drive by the house Mom and Dad lived in on Isabella for 40 years (before moving to TCP in 2019) and he said, “yes.” As we drove by Dad commented, “it looks pretty much the same.”
During Mom and my last journey together, which included transportation bonding, I also picked her up from TCP, only it was directly from the skilled nursing room she was staying in (which initially we thought/hoped would be temporary), as she was recovering from a hospital stay, related to a fall the previous month, which exacerbated her Parkinson’s related movement challenges. We didn’t travel by car that day, as I wasn’t able to move Mom from the wheelchair (which she was using most of the time at that point) to my car and back on my own. Though we had tried/practiced with an occupational therapist at TCP prior to that day, in hopes that I could. Unfortunately, Mom’s Parkinson’s progression made her body really stiff and it was too much for me to handle. So instead, I wheeled Mom to and from her annual appointment with her neurologist, who specialized in Parkinson’s disease.
Our transportation bonding took about 45 minutes each way. It was a beautiful summer day and we enjoyed having the time to talk. On our way to the appointment, I shared about an e-letter we had received from Gail, about their first few days of adventures at YMCA Camp Echo. Though I don’t remember a lot about what we covered en route to Mom’s doctor’s office, across the street from Evanston Hospital, it’s likely we discussed Sean’s next steps after their first year at Marquette University didn’t work out, including the tentative plan for Sean to apply for a year of service with AmeriCorps City Year Chicago (which they completed earlier this month). Mom did know that was likely what Sean would be doing. We probably also talked some about my hope to be invited for a second interview for a new role (the one I am in now) as a Career Advisor at NU with the Medill school. I would’ve been able to share I felt fairly confident about that scenario, though it hadn’t happened officially yet.
The appointment with Mom’s neurologist was bittersweet and included the three of us acknowledging that her Parkinson’s had progressed significantly. We decided, though it was difficult, that it made sense for Mom to transition more permanently to skilled nursing at TCP. Mom’s neurologist also prescribed a new medication for her to try, that we were optimistic could help Mom with some specific challenges she’d been facing in recent days/weeks. Unfortunately, she only took it once (that night), before she began to die and was moved to hospice care at Evanston Hospital the next morning.
On Mom and my way home, we talked more about why it made sense for her to move from assisted living to skilled nursing in the coming days, as much as I understood it wasn’t what she wanted. We also discussed how I was struggling with balancing caring for her, myself, my family and doing my job at NU. After being primarily a SAHM for 18 years, I was relishing in being back in the traditional workforce full time, as she had done eventually after being home with Meg and me, and didn’t want to give that up. To be clear, Mom was not asking me to. That said, those last weeks of her life I took a lot of family sick time off to be with her and it was starting to feel overwhelming/unsustainable. I told Mom that if she had a terminal illness and we knew the end was near, I’d use the FMLA in a heartbeat, to spend as much time with her as possible. However, we didn’t know what we didn’t know at the time and I believed she would be with us a lot longer. Thus, I thought I needed to pace myself. Mom seemed to understand.
I recall at one point, during our transportation bonding that day, as I was pushing Mom in the wheelchair, noticing a younger parent pushing a child in a stroller near by. I was struck by both the symmetry and difference in how both of us we were moving through our neighborhood with loved ones.
On our way back, as Mom and I got closer to TCP, we ran into a longtime childhood friend of mine (who I’ve known/went to school with since Kindergarten at Willard and also attended/worked at YMCA Camp Echo with) and his wife. Their family lives out of town/in another state and returns every summer to visit. They also had one or more kids at Camp Echo that same session as Gail. We had a nice chat and filled my old friend and his wife in on how Mom and Dad had moved from my childhood home a few years before to TCP. It is another one of my vivid and meaningful memories from Mom and my last day (when she was fully conscious) together.
After I brought Mom back to her room at TCP that afternoon, I went home to finish a half day of work remotely. Then I went to pick up the new prescription her neurologist had suggested she try and drop it off at TCP. When I arrived, Mom was being wheeled back to her room from having dinner with a close friend, who had already transitioned to skilled nursing at TCP. Mom found comfort in being able to spend time with her friend there and I appreciate that Mom’s last supper was with this kindred spirit, whom our family adored and even celebrated at least one holiday in recent years with us at our home.
The last thing Mom and I did together, before I left that evening, was call Meg to sing Happy Birthday and chat. As I typed this, “Just Breathe” by Pearl Jam (PJ) came on my Indigo Girls Pandora station, which I know PJ super fan Meg will appreciate. As I was getting ready to go that night, Mom remembered it was Meg’s birthday. I didn’t realize they hadn’t already been in touch that day and suggested we call her. I love that the three of us were able to connect that way, which would turn out to be for the last time (when Mom was fully conscious). Though we did have special moments when Mom regained some consciousness after she transitioned to hospice care on July 12th, before her death on July 13th.
When both of your parents die in a July, two years apart, summer hits differently. Around this time last year I felt I like was starting to come out of the fog that surrounded those first two years that followed Dad’s death. However, when Mom died unexpectedly less than two weeks later, grief and loss sent me right back into the thick of it.
A saving grace early on for me last year was reading The Grieving Brain: The Surprising Science of How We Learn From Love and Loss by Dr. Mary-Frances O’Connor, which introduced me to the Dual Processing Model of Grief and gave me permission, as well as validation, to move forward with joy and wonder, while at the same time nursing my broken heart.
When Taylor Swift’s new album, the Tortured Poets Department was released in April this year, I noticed how many of the songs she wrote about navigating life after a romantic relationship ends, can be applied to adapting to a new reality after someone we were very close to dies. As Taylor sings in, what quickly became my anthem, “I Can Do it with a Broken Heart:”
“I cry a lot but I am so productive, it’s an art. You know you’re good when you can even do it with a broken heart.”
Circling back to transportation bonding, another memorable and meaningful association that I have with spending quality time traveling with my parents is on the many road trips that we took throughout my childhood and adolescence. Our most common destinations were to visit Dad’s parents in Marion, Ohio (the small town where Mom and Dad grew up) and later Columbus (after my Grandma Mite and Grandpa Robert moved there), as well as Mom’s parents, my Grandma Dee and Grandpa Jack (after they retired) on Hilton Head Island (HHI) in South Carolina. This photo, a longtime family favorite, was taken in a parking lot after a meal/rest stop on one of those trips.
Dad had placed their camera on top of our Plymouth Reliant mini station wagon and set the timer for an old school selfie. As we waited for the shutter to click and take our photo, we realized we were facing traffic that was passing by. So it might appear we were smiling and posing for them, as opposed to a small camera they likely couldn’t see from the road. Thus, Mom, Meg and I started laughing right as the picture was taken! I was around Gail’s age at the time (notice the many friendship bracelets I was wearing from Camp Echo that summer) and Meg was close to how old Sean is now.
Noting that ”Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles came on my Indigo Girls Pandora station as I was working on this section in of my post, which is/was a family favorite. Dad was a huge Beatles fan and at times we listen to Beatles songs when we visit the cemetery, especially on days connected to Dad’s life and death, as we plan to do tomorrow.
I have such wonderful memories of the games we’d play on our Axe family road trips, including the Alphabet and License Plate games. Dad also loved to honk and wave at strangers, as if we knew them, when we drove through small towns. Dad and our family rarely listened to country music, the exception being during these road trips. We especially got a kick out of, what we perceived to be, the goofy songs titles and lyrics. Another silly thing Dad came up with many decades ago was for us to choose “southern names” that we’d call each other at times, especially on our road trips. Dad chose “Junyer” (which he spelled that way) for himself, Mom’s southern name was “Cherry.” I don’t recall if Dad came up with that or if she did. Meg’s is “Ginnie Mae” and mine is “Cindy Sue.” I vaguely recall that I may’ve liked Cindy in part because of the character of the same name on The Brady Bunch TV show.
Next month Bob, the kids and I will be going on our first long family road trip that we’ve taken since the pandemic began, as well as Dad’s and Mom’s deaths. It is special and meaningful to me that we chose to return to HHI, where we haven’t been since August 2019 (with Mom, Dad and my Meg’s family). We also have extended family members who live there that we are excited to visit. It will be definitely feel bittersweet since Mom’s and Dad’s/Grandma Jacquie’s and Grandpa Kevin’s deaths.
I am looking forward continuing this Axe family tradition of transportation bonding and getting to spend time in one of our Happy Places — filled with so many wonderful memories and the opportunity to make new ones together.
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