Memory Lane

Toward the end of my grandmother's life, she struggled with Alzheimer's.   This story came from the idea that if my grandmother thought she was a younger person or a different age, then maybe it was possible, in some way to talk to the person she used to be.



“I think I’d like to stop at the Hot Dog Shack,” my mother said.
“Mom, you know that’s a Burger King now.” I sighed. It wasn’t right, but I got so tired of correcting my own mother day after day. I turned the air conditioning off, knowing that my parents liked the car to be nice and warm.
“Oh, when did that happen?” my mother asked again.
“Donna, the Hot Dog Shack has been gone for ten years,” my father pointed out from the front seat beside me.
This had actually been his idea, this drive through the country. My mother didn’t get out much anymore. While putting her in Westwood Pines had definitely been a load off my mind, I did it more for dad than for myself actually. Erwin Tuinstra was just too old to have to deal with an Alzheimer’s patient on his own.
Having to convince his own wife that he wasn’t a stranger and trying to keep her in the house when she wanted to leave in the middle of the night was too hard on my dad. Sometimes my mom was the sweetest of souls, but dad would have to force her back into the house when she would claim her own father was waiting for her to come home.
Ten weeks after my mom had checked in to Westwood Pines, my dad had a stroke. Between the effects of his condition and the medicine he was supposed to take, he could no longer take care of himself then. Soon he moved into a room down the hall from his wife.
Along with everything else going on in my life, daily heartbreaking visits to the rest home
were now on my schedule. Dad hadn’t asked for a lot, just a Saturday morning ride in the car. I thought it might be good for all of us to get a change of scenery.
Getting them into the car wasn’t a problem, both of them were able to move around all right. It had just come on a bad day. My daughter was trying to get the sophomore float ready for the homecoming parade and I was on the committee. I also needed to see the architect about the house addition. When planning this little parental field trip, I hadn’t anticipated how busy I would be. I called my dad to reschedule it, but he kept gushing about how excited he was to be going. So, here I was.
“The trees are so pretty this time of year,” my mother observed from behind me. Even when he wasn’t able to drive anymore, my father was never one to sit in the back seat. “Erwin, you need a haircut.”
She reached forward to playfully put her hands through her husband’s thinning hair. I smiled at her, as she ran her fingers through in little patterns, like a little girl.
“Stop that, Donna,” dad said, pushing her hands back. That seemed to flip a switch inside of her.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Her voice became shrill. “Where’s my husband? Where are you taking me?”
Please not now, I thought. “Mom, we’re going for a ride. Dad is right up here in the front seat.”
She tapped the back of dad’s head again, “Dad? Who is this lady? Are we going to church?”
“I’m your husband, Donna,” Dad said, mantra-like.

“Where are we going?” Mom asked, her hands rapidly moving over her forearms, down her legs and back again.
“Mom, it’s ok,” I tried to soothe. “We’re going for a ride, like we planned.”
Mom’s arthritic fingers began pulling at the seatbelt frantically. “I want to go home, I want to go home.” Her voice was tinged with fear.
Dad turned around in his seat. “It’s all right, Donna. Terre is taking us for a little ride. We’re having fun, going for a drive like we used to.”
No effect. “I want to go home! Take me home!” Mom’s voice was getting louder, as she continued to fumble with her seatbelt.
I sighed. This was not a good idea. What was I thinking? Mom needed to be in a stable, structured environment.
Click.
I recognized that sound immediately. Mom was free in the backseat.
“Let me out. I want to go home! Take me home!” my own mother was yelling in the backseat.
“Dad, she took off her seatbelt,” I said, touching his arm. He was usually pretty good at calming her down.
“Donna, you know Terre,” my dad said in soft steady tones.. “Terre’s our little girl, she’s been taking care of us.”
I turned to join dad’s calming words saw mom pawing at the door like a caged squirrel. “Mom, put your seatbelt on,” I said, trying to stay calm.
“Take me out! I want my dad!”

“Donna, it’s ok, everything is all right.”
“Mom, please put your seatbelt on, I’ll take you home.”
“Terre,” my dad put a hand on my leg.
I turned back to the front of the car and my foot activated before my brain was aware. It mashed on the brake hard. The blue truck in front of us had stopped as the flow of traffic has slowed down. I swear the car went up on its front two wheels, as dad and I were pushed against the seatbelts. A thump behind me let us both know that mom hadn’t been so lucky. The car slowed down, skidding a little to the side.
“Oh my--,” I sat back in my seat, letting go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. My heart was drumming a serious rock beat.
The truck, totally unaware of the accident it had just missed, moved ahead as the traffic flow resumed. A horn sounded behind me and I pulled off to the side. County road 23 wasn’t a highway by any means, just the main route out of town. The crackling sounds of the car sliding onto the dirt embankment seemed to ease my mom’s mind slightly. She wasn’t shouting anymore, which helped me calm down.
Another click announced my mom opening the door to get out. My hand moved to the door controls on my own side, but it was too late. I don’t know what age my mother currently thought she was, but it wasn’t eighty-six. She turned in the backseat, plopping her feet onto the ground. She stood up and started walking away from the car.
“Dad!” I called out, opening my own door, even though I knew my dad wasn’t in any position to chase my mother down the street. The cars on the road were whooshing by, my mom blissfully unaware.

I sprinted the distance to my mom, grabbing her by her shoulder. “Mom, we need to get back in the car.” A few passing cars honked, whether out of concern or annoyance, I didn’t know or care.
Gently and firmly, I guided my mother in a little walking u-turn back toward the car. My dad had opened his door and was taking small steps toward us.
What a sight we must have been, the three of us by the side of the road. I felt like I was corralling a pet who had escaped, for all the world to see. Dad came forward, tears in his eyes. “Donna,” He slowly took her in his arms, hugging her weakly. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Mom seemed to melt against him, “Where did you go, honey?”
“I’m right here, sweetie.”
I leaned against the car, taking a moment to feel the sun against my skin, everyone safe for the moment. Taking a deep breath, I looked at dad, “We should take her home.”
Dad gave a sad little nod, and slowly opened the car door.
“There’s just no time,” my mother said, out of thin air.
Out of habit, I almost asked her what she meant. Life with my mom seemed to be one long interrogation session, with my dad and I taking turns doing the questioning.
I leaned into the backseat, adjusting the seatbelt around my mom, making sure she was comfortable. “There’s just no time,” she repeated.
“I know, mom.” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “We’re taking you back home now.”
I got into the car and started it. Looking back, I saw my mom staring out the window at a cow pasture, and my dad looking blankly into his lap.

Sighing, I eased the car out onto the road. “Maybe just a few more miles.” I said, changing my mind.
Turning left onto Clark Street, I decided to drive into a neighboring town. Lexington was about ten miles away, so we’d be back at Westwood Pines within the hour. That might work out better actually, I’d have time to get some float supplies for my daughter afterward.
“There’s not time! You know how busy I am!” my mother blurted out.
“What do you have to do today, mom?” I asked, too weary to argue
“You know we have church tonight!” she said.
I frowned slightly. My dad had been a pastor for forty years, which meant they’d gone to church regularly Sunday morning and night, along with a mid-week service, usually on Wednesday. The fact that today was Friday meant mom was remembering again.
“We don’t have church tonight, Donna,” Dad said, even though the two of them hadn’t been to church in the six months they had been living at Westwood Pines. I had been meaning to take my parents to the local Baptist church, knowing it meant a lot to them.
“Don’t argue with me,” my mom said, “It’s summer revival meetings. Your father is going to have a fit when I turn up late.”
“Mom, it’s the middle of October,” I said.
“And you, young lady, you should have told me about your emergency basketball practice!” This voice was totally different. It was the same tone that had yelled at me for a messy room, or for not doing my best on my science test.
“Donna, Terre is grown up now,” Dad said.
Emergency basketball practice? When was that? Fingers crawled at the back of my

mind. Now it was my turn to remember something that had happened years ago. I turned onto Lexington Avenue, the memory trying to surface from the depths of my mind.
“Why didn’t you get your sister Linda to drive you?” my mom continued to rant. “I’m not a taxi service!”
It was quite surreal to hear my mom complaining about driving me from the back seat of the car.
“She was busy,” I said.

My dad was of the school of thought that we should keep mom grounded in the present, keep her up to date. I knew my dad would be uncomfortable with what I was doing, but I pressed on. “I thought Linda had play practice.”
“Of course she does,” my mom continued, “I know she has play practice because she writes it on the calendar like I repeatedly ask you to do.”
“Sorry.” I was trying to sound nice and sullen, like I always did as a teenager.
This moment was coming back to me slowly. Only coach Klaus has ever used the words “emergency practice” like other people had used “emergency surgery”. The coach had been infuriated with one of our games and had ordered an additional practice for everyone. I was so boy-crazy at the time that I had completely forgotten to let anyone in my family know. I must have been fourteen or fifteen at the time, because I couldn’t just drive myself.
“Your father and I just want you to be a little more responsible,” Mom said.
My thoughts raced to countless trips to practices, rehearsals, parties and auditions that I had made with each of my five children. Just last week I had forgotten Randee’s
t-ball practice. I had no time to do that either, having to cancel my hair appointment. That‘s what a mother does.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw my mother staring out the window. That’s what my mother did for me.
As a pastor’s wife, my mother had countless responsibilities that I wasn’t even aware of. Prayer meetings, Bible studies, hospital visits, and ladies’ retreats were all in her charge. She was a literal super-wife and still had plenty of time for school conferences, sports, homework help, and making lunches.
A gulp raised in my throat. My mother had done it all.
“Thanks mom for taking me,” I said softly. “I’m sorry I can’t keep my schedule straight.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror, again, seeing a little smile grace her face. She really was beautiful.
My mind went back to that incident years ago. Did I apologize to my mother for that? I wasn’t a bad kid, but I was a teenager nonetheless. I didn’t have it together like my sister Linda did, but she was such an overachiever.
“It’s ok, honey,” she said.
It struck me how long it had been since I had pursued a back-and-forth conversation of this length with my own mother.
“How did you do on your algebra quiz?” she asked.
I looked at dad, his eyes set straight ahead. I knew that look. If my dad disapproved of the conversation, he would have spoken up, put an end to it. He was nervous, not knowing if my conversation was a good thing or not. He always stepped back when he was unsure of himself, and that’s what he was doing now.
“Elaine helped me with it,” I said. That probably wasn’t a lie. Elaine was the only friend

I had who could understand those assignments. Even with her help, though, I usually failed them.
“She’s such a good friend to you. I really like her.” Mom smoothed her blouse a little, looking up toward me.
“Mom,” I said, squeezing back tears. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all you do for me.”
“Terre, it’s all--”
“No please listen,” I said, feeling funny interrupting my mother even though I was fifty-eight years old. “You’ve always kept me on my feet. I love you so much, I hope some day I can be the kind of mother you can be proud of.”
I breathed in heavily. My mom was incoherent so much of the time. I felt like I had poured a river out in a few short sentences.
“Terre, Terre, Terre.” My mother just shook her head. “I can’t imagine you with kids at all.”
My dad started laughing, and I joined him. Looking in the mirror, I saw that my mother was laughing as well.
“Donna,” dad said, “Remember when Terre brought that frog in to have dinner with us?”
“Oh my yes,” mom giggled. “What a mess that was!”
The three of us were laughing as the car stopped at the corner. Westwood Pines was five miles straight ahead. I switched on the blinker.