Rich has good days and bad days. Everyone does. Sometimes, though, it’s not so simple to figure out how he’s doing overall. Monday night after dinner Rich’s stomach started cramping and bothering him. He went to work on Tuesday, but by 5pm he was in rough shape. I drove him to pick up Ian and then home where he skipped dinner, spending the evening on the couch.
By this morning, he was feeling better. He ate breakfast and that went well. We decided to try a late lunch at Panera. When we walked out to the car, I asked him if he wanted to drive and he said it didn’t matter.
He then proceeded to question every turn I took, including which parking space I picked. It’s not that I’m a bad driver. It’s just that Rich is a horrible passenger. It’s part of why he hates flying is they won’t let him drive. When we left Panera, I drove again and the first thing he said was, “Why are you going this way?” Dude. It’s a parking lot. There’s only but so many ways to exit.
This summer we went through months where I could barely get Rich to leave the house, let alone drive. He was not up to driving or even having an opinion about the drive. He would just lean the seat back and stare wistfully out the window, resigned to his destination and the route there.
It’s so nice to know he’s feeling well enough to question my driving, I’m not even mad.