So it hasn't been the greatest week, let's just get that out of the way. Tuesday, the nice Jewish occupational therapist at Cedars recommended Driving Cessation. Why sugarcoat it? Why not cut to the chase and say, "Stop driving, it's enough already." Too easy. That job fell to the family. How did that go? Not well, but thanks for asking. The Old Brooklyn Jew we adore so much is stuck in denial. Driving cessation? Please. Not happening. To prove it, he went out on Wednesday and lost the car. Lost it. As in gone. My brother John informed me of this latest development via text. "Dad lost the car. Going to pick him up now and look for it." My first reaction: God willing, you don't find it. This is divine intervention. This is what we've been waiting for. God getting involved, prompted by Mom, who's been watching this whole fiasco unfold and said, "We'll take it from here." Literally... take the car. But no. The resolution didn't play out in Biblical fashion. "We found the car," John reported. "@#$%!" I said. "I was hoping it was stolen, never to be seen again." Is this a healthy SJG response? Well, let me think about it. Maybe not. By Thursday, the Old Brooklyn Jew started to veer ever-so-slightly. Denial gave way to sadness. Acceptance? No. Not there yet. By Friday, he was taking a cab to have dinner with his longtime lady friend. How did that go? Not well, but thanks for asking. This is a work in progress.
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