Sometimes I have the sensation that I’m experiencing one of those weird, out of body moments. Not that I have died; just that sanity seems to be eluding me, no matter how hard I try to at least meet it half-way. Such was the case when my friend Shelly and I made a trip to visit our mothers at their retirement community.
Feeling off schedule and a bit restless about my dissertation proposal, I had set some achievable goals for myself in the hopes of breaking a long stretch of little progress. It was one of those ever-optimistic Mondays when all new things are begun; diets, exercise programs, writing plans. But, before I’d been able to settle into work, Shelly called. She had been providing day care for a number of children but on this particular Monday she had only two children to care for and thought it would be fun to take the children, and lunch, to visit our mothers.
I had a momentary hesitation but decided that the proposal could wait one more day. Afterall, which was more important, bringing joy to the elderly or feeling like a hamster in a wheel, cranking away at a paper that never seems to have a conclusion? Turns out…the paper might have been the better choice.
Shelly had some food already prepared so I volunteered to make dessert and we set a time that she would pick me up and we’d be off. I whipped up a batch of brownies and told my dissertation we’d start anew on Tuesday.
This was the same Monday that I received the infamous, “What day is it?” phone call from my mother. Perhaps the phone call should have been a sign, one of those ‘turn back now’ moments so apparent to the reader of a novel but hidden from the naïve protagonist headed straight into a trap.
Thinking it would appease her a bit, I told her of the plans to bring lunch and come for a visit. That most certainly did not fix the fact that it wasn’t Tuesday but sure, she thought a visit would be nice.
Shelly and I arrived with lunch and toddlers and our mothers were at the front door waiting for us. The mothers have lived in the same retirement community for a couple of months and have spoken almost daily. They have dinner together and go on outings together and by appearance, anyway, one would think they are best friends. It seems more likely that they are just perpetually new friends. Upon meeting at the entrance to the building they greeted one another and then Shelly’s mom, Nancy, informed my mother that she was meeting Shelly for lunch, that her friend Sue was coming over and that they would be meeting Sue’s mom as well. My mother informed Nancy that she was, in fact, Sue’s mother. A later recounting of the story…several times…brought gales of laughter from Nancy. Nancy is the poster child for ‘dementia can be fun!’
We had planned to have lunch in the large, sunny atrium but it was decorated for an upcoming event so we chose to move our little party to a small community room. We settled in and had gotten everyone served when a resident walked in, took one look at the two little boys with us and exclaimed, “Oh, you brought the triplets!” Shelly and I exchanged perplexed glances and counted children. Nope, she had only brought two. Before she could respond, however, the woman wandered off. A few minutes later another resident came in and asked Shelly where the third one was. Eventually we were able to put together the pieces of the puzzle. The atrium was decorated for a memorial service and the woman who had died was frequently visited by a woman who must have looked a lot like Shelly and had triplets. Our impromptu party on the day of the memorial service was causing confusion over who was who. Not that confusion of that sort was particularly unusual there anyway.
Upon hearing that a memorial service was on the day’s agenda, Nancy began to make plans for everyone to attend. My mother said she didn’t know the dead woman. That didn’t seem to matter to Nancy and she insisted that Shelly and I and the ‘triplets’ attend. No matter how much any of us said we would not be attending the memorial service, Nancy was adamant that we would all be attending.
The conversation over lunch essentially covered three rotating topics. One, our mandatory attendance at the memorial service. Two, a recent newspaper article about a boy who had been hit by a school bus and lost his legs, complete with Nancy recounting the grisly details of his legs being crushed. And three, the story of Nancy’s inability to remember my mother when they met at the front door earlier.
My mother seemed to be having a miserable time. But, it was Monday, damnit. What could I expect.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over we circled around the three topics. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not.
In attempt to escape the conversational loop I got out the calendar of events and started asking Nancy which events she’d like to attend. We signed her up for shopping trips and scenic rides and I carefully wrote out each event on a slip of paper in an effort to help her remember. This provided a bit of reprieve from the boy's crushed legs and the upcoming memorial service.
Once we had completed that exercise, my mother quietly muttered, “I guess I’d better go this afternoon.” Her statement caught Nancy’s attention and she exclaimed, “What is happening this afternoon?” An hour and a half of bickering about attending the memorial service and when my mother finally conceded to attending, Nancy couldn’t remember what was taking place.
I didn't think my mother really meant what she said about the service so I walked her back to her apartment so she could rest. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others she wheeled around, glared at me, and snarled, “Don’t you ever bring those little kids over here again.”
I was taken aback by her viscous chastisement although I’m not sure why. Verbal attacks are a way of life with her. Regardless, I wasn’t sure where her disapproval of the children had come from. They were very well behaved amid the revolving conversation, memory loss and general mayhem she and Nancy had caused.
At her apartment, I gave her a hug and said goodbye. Given her general surliness I was sure she’d take a nap as soon as I left. My next stop was Nancy’s apartment where Shelly had gone to say goodbye to her mother. I arrived amid a frantic search for an appropriate sympathy card to take to the memorial service. Unable to find one, Nancy settled on a cheerful birthday card. She’d just cross out the Happy Birthday salutation.
Oh. My. Gosh.
We made our way to the lobby and as we passed by the atrium I noticed a smattering of people gathering for the memorial service. As much as I should not have been surprised by her caustic remark about the children, I should also not have been surprised by my mother having taken a front row seat at the memorial service she had insisted she would not attend.
The words to Manic Monday suddenly came to mind….
