I'm driving now

On role reversal with our parents and the fine line between helping and hovering.

This comes to you via hotel wifi in the town of West Yellowstone, MT. Mom and I are currently on the second of two mother-daughter road trips. We’re out here to visit Mom’s old friend in Salt Lake City, but while we’re in the neighborhood, we decided to spend a few days in Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks.

(To my Mom, anything under 500 miles qualifies as “in the neighborhood.”)

I’m doing all the driving. My driving was a non-negotiable when we started talking about these trips. Mom loves — and I mean loves — long-distance driving, but she gets tired easily and has vision problems. She was furious and tried to put her foot down, like when I was a kid. But on this matter, I wouldn’t budge.

I hated having to pull rank on my Mom. Even now I’m a listen-to-your-parents “good girl,” and she’s always had strong opinions. Saying no feels like breaking the One Rule to Rule Them All. But that’s part of growing up, isn’t it? Stepping up to adulthood, making hard decisions and trusting when to stick to them?

I didn’t think at 54 I’d still be growing up, but here we are. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Mom & me in Yellowstone National Park yesterday

There’s more to my discomfort, though. People talk about “role reversal” as aging parents become more dependent on their adult children. Mom and I are experiencing this to some degree. But she’s still my Mom. She’s an adult with a wholly different temperament and opinions based on a lifetime of experience.

Yes, she needs help now, much more than she wants. What she doesn’t need is my hovering.

These road trips are helping us figure out our new mother-daughter relationship. I wouldn’t call this role reversal. I’d call it role redefinition.

A few days into our first trip, she said, “you know what? I’m glad you’re driving. You were right.” But that hasn’t stopped her from back-seat driving or arguing with the GPS.

The view from the top of Artist’s Point in Yellowstone

The last time I was in Yellowstone, I was nine years old. I spent many summer vacations camping in national parks with my parents. One of our family cars was a small Toyota pickup fitted with a Snugtop camper shell. “Camper” is overstating it — it was just a fiberglass cover for the cargo bed with sliding windows and a hinged back window. The cargo bed was outfitted with a padded, carpeted insert which turned it into a comfy place for a kid to lie down and listen to her cassette tape collection.

I spent several summers traversing the Western interstates packed in the back of a truck with a pillow, my sleeping bag, some books and puzzle magazines, and a tape player. And all the camping equipment. And no seat belts.

(This was parenting in the 70s.)

Raise your hand if you had one of these! Photo credit: Lily Brennan via Flickr (public domain)

Now I’m in the driver’s seat. I’m following Siri’s directions while Mom fumbles with the free map from AAA. I’m filling the gas tank after Mom checks to see if there’s a Costco nearby so we can get the best per-gallon price, even if it means driving farther. I’m on the lookout for drive-through coffee while Mom’s satisfied with the free stuff at the motel. “What do I care as long as it’s hot?”

We’re finding our way out here, and, eventually, we’ll find our way home.

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🗄️ IN THE ARCHIVES

11 tips for road tripping with elderly relatives

…and more on caring for elders

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Thanks for reading Parent of Adults, my invitation to compare notes on life beyond the empty nest. I’m Asha Dornfest, a Portland, Oregon-based author & parent of two young adults.

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