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My Dear Daisy

My husband has graciously driven me to my appointments for years and has had to take time off of work to do so, and then make up the time afterwards. It started to weigh on him and caused a little more tension in our relationship. My physiotherapist advocated for me to the car insurance company, to get a driver covered. I had to search and find a professional to take me to and from my appointment.


Pride really shows up and becomes evident when we are unable to do things ourselves and are forced to ask for help. Almost all of the businesses that did driving for appointments, were targeted for the elderly. Being in my thirties and feeling embarrassed that I couldn't drive myself was a hard thing for me to suck up, but I found someone with reasonable rates and so a new chapter in this journey began.



Her long, silver hair done up in this cute pony tail, and little artificial daisies laid on the dash board, to go along with the theme of her driving business name. Norah Jones' CD played on repeat most trips, but occasionally it would be the old school 80's type rock radio station, lightly playing in the background. She didn't believe in using A/C, as she proclaimed it causes cancer ( that's what her dad always told her). During the heatwaves, my legs would stick to her leather seat and I'd be desperate to get some sort of breeze, so I'd try to politely roll down the window just a smidge. She loved to chat on our rides and with the wind flapping through the vehicle we could barely hear one another, so she'd roll the window up, and I'd end up baking in the heat. Our times together were sweet, I enjoyed her company but there were some days that the pain I was experiencing was too much, or I just was too talked out that I just wanted to sit in silence. I felt bad on those days because she'd notice and ask if I was okay.


My girls came with me to some of my appointments and my driver ( we'll call her "D") just loved having them come along. "D" was a single older woman that enjoyed a good book and loved to thrift. At Christmas time, we exchanged gifts and I sent her a family photo. She became a dear friend. I had her as my driver for just over a year. The car insurance company put a lot of pressure on me to get to where I could drive myself or else they threatened taking away my treatments.


I'd start off having to drive for five minutes a day, then ten, and so on, to try and build up my stamina and get my body conditioned to be able to drive longer distances. It was a sad, teary day when "D" drove me for the last time. I remember standing in my front yard, she normally held out an arm and walked me up my driveway, when we neared the top she looked at me and said, "I'm going to miss you." Tears streamed down her face and my eyes brimmed with tears in them too. I was proud of how hard I had worked so that I had more freedom to do things on my own, but I also got attached to her and hated that we wouldn't get our weekly visit in.


We've stayed in contact and recently went for coffee and a thrift date. She told me that whenever her friends comment on our family photo, displayed on her fridge, she tells them, "They are my dear friends and if I could adopt them as my family I would."

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