The day started out okay. It was a lovely, crisp, fall day, cool enough to wear long sleeves, but quickly degenerated into what I had been dreading and it turned out to be every bit as bad as expected.

It started with a reminder I texted to dad that mom should have a clean shirt on and have combed her hair before he drove her to meet me at the Department of Motor Vehicles to get an ID. He called the landline five minutes later to ask me if the appointment was that morning. I answered in the affirmative and reminded him what time he should meet me so I could escort mom through the process. Suspecting he may not have read the text I called back and asked him if he’d seen it and verbally reminded him about her grooming. Ten minutes later he called back asking me to bring a brush since he claimed he could not find one comb or brush in the whole apartment. 

And we were off. My parents have always had terrible communication skills which are not improving, obviously. My mother’s cousin in Key West was dead for three months before anyone got the news to them. I’m not sure about the veracity of that. Someone could have called my mother the day after she died and she would have forgotten in the minute after she was told. I think this is why, as my sisters and I grow older, we communicate constantly to make sure nothing falls through the cracks.  

I had booked the appointment for mom back-to-back with my drivers license renewal and had as many of the relevant documents to support her getting an ID as I could scrape together, worrying that they wouldn’t be enough. No one can find her citizenship papers, they are squirreled away who knows where, and I don’t think she ever had her birth certificate when she immigrated from Cuba. And what are the chances of getting 89 year old documents from Cuba, I ask you? How about nil.

We met at one of the large DMV centers, an older building located centrally in the state. First we had to check in by the parking lot with our appointment confirmation numbers. Naturally there was a line where we had to stand 6’ feet apart. And naturally we had a temp check and questions about our health when walking in the door. Then we proceeded to the next check in to get our call numbers, kind of like when you go to the supermarket deli and get a number. I asked the man at that station if my mom could stay with me to do the ID back-to-back to my license and told him she couldn’t be left alone. He said to bring her with me and we’d be helped from there.

As I said, it is an older building and the acoustics are terrible. Of course chairs are set 6’ feet apart and there are barriers in front of each station and everyone is wearing masks. My number got called and I waved mom along with me. My renewal was over quickly and then I asked the woman at the station about an ID for mom. She knew of it since I’d given the heads up at the first check-in and the people at the DMV are actually very good about communications between stations. She couldn’t do IDs, so she sent us over to another station back near the front.

This is where the trouble began. Mom began to get fidgety because she could not understand why she needed an ID. My sisters and I had been prepping her for a month that this was coming. Sometimes she’d dig in her heels and sometimes she’d be okay. Today she was digging in her heels. 

Dad was outside waiting in the parking lot way on the other side of the building but since we were nearer to the doors she was sure he would be right outside. So she kept wandering off to see if she could get a glimpse of him. I kept calling her back because I couldn’t leave the station while her paperwork was being processed. At one point I abandoned all of my stuff at the station to urge her back. Meanwhile there was a litany of why this was taking so long, they only wanted the money, why did she need an ID, etc., etc. 

Of course the assembled paperwork was not adequate. The mail with a current address was older than 90 days and didn’t have an envelope. That’s what was holding it up. I sighed, muttering that I’d never get mom back there again, and was gathering the paperwork together when the man at the station asked me if I wanted to see if the rest of the documents would suffice: her 60-odd year old immigration card, her social security card, an expired passport (which I knew wouldn’t fly), and her marriage certificate. I said sure, why not? We were there and might as well try. He had to kick this up to a higher authority, so we had to wait.

“… hold my arms out like someone waving in aircraft to keep her facing front.”

It felt like an eternity, although it was only about 10 or 15 minutes. But mom, mom, swung back between being fidgety as a six year old or as surly at a sixteen year old. Take your pick. She’d wander off. She’d insist that she didn’t need an ID. She’d mutter that they wanted the money. She’d fret that dad didn’t know where she was. To all this I’d have to ask her to please come back, to stay near me, ask her if she wanted me to call dad to reassure her that he wouldn’t leave her behind, we would be done soon, soon, soon. 

Meanwhile… in the waiting area… we must have been giving those sitting there quite a show. 

Finally a type of picture ID was approved. It wasn’t a Real ID, but at that point I didn’t care. It would be an ID we could use for doctor’s appointments and the like. Then she had to have her picture taken. She outright refused. I had to badger and plead with her to get it done. Practically had to grab her by the shoulders and place her in front of the camera. Hold my arms out like someone waving in aircraft to keep her facing front. Click. It was done. She looked like a sulky teenager, but it didn’t matter. She signed the pad and I paid the fee. 

But of course it wasn’t done. There was one more station to go. One more cog in the wheel. 

We were directed to another station, fortunately out of sight of the exit so mom was less agitated, but she still couldn’t understand the delays. Neither could I at this point, frankly, but there wasn’t a lot to be done but endure.

And then, blessed release. The paperwork was done and we were free to go find dad.

Who we couldn’t find. He said he was in the far parking lot, which I took to mean the big lot in the rear for the public, but apparently he had found one in the much closer, and much smaller, public lot. We wandered for a while, and I was finally able to deliver mom to him. 

All in all, it was a stressful hour, but despite mom’s behavior the DMV people were wonderful. I mean, we’ve all been led to believe that the DMV is a kind of hell on earth but it wasn’t. Every person I came into contact with was kind and patient or if not kind and patient, not mean or belligerent either. Neutral. It helped calm me and I am grateful to them for that. 

It’s not often you can say that about the DMV.