It didn't happen this time. But it did last time, while driving down to college again. I talked about it already, but only here on this webspace, and not with anyone. He started clutching his chest at the wheel (eyes shut and mouth open) and eventually asked if I had my learner's permit on me. Yes, I did/do. The crisis-management side of my brain was gearing up to grab ahold and steer to wherever th hell the nearest hospital was in mid-central Virginia, although it seems like there are more rivers, Cracker Barrels, gentlemen's clubs (the Paper Moon billboard is a familiar landmark), and shanty graveyards than emergency medical relief sites in the area. After riding in silence for a minute, he opened his eyes and waved off my asking if he was ok, what I should do.
Lots of childhood xmas list letters pleading with him to quit, secretly throwing his cartons into the trash, cancers growing like funguses amonguses, nagging, pleading again, deaths of family members, small frowns, silently rolling down the windows (except for the rolldown sound--I still like manual window dial-bars anyway), then preparing to zip through highway traffic when really I am very bad at driving, still.
You'll be there before you know it (because you age faster!). You are the only person who can do anything about it. I am just completely sick of it.