Stop Press: Old Lady Disappears!
By MP on Friday 22 September 2006, 19:47 - Journal - Permalink
Dad calls me while I'm in a meeting. I apologise to everyone and take the call. Dad is incoherent and obviously distressed.
'Your mum's disappeared,' he says.'When did you last see her?' I ask.
'Just now,' he says. 'I've just come home and called you.'
'Where were you?'
'At the end of the road.'
'Which road?'
'This road.'
'Which road is 'this road' dad?'
'Our road.'
'Which end were you?'
'Not the top end.'
'Where it joins Corrie Road?'
'I don't know. She was there one minute...'
'What were you doing at the end of the road?'
'We just went for a walk!' he exclaims, as if something so quotidian has no right developing into something so traumatic.
'You went for a walk and mum just disappeared? How did that happen?'
'We got there...'
'Where, dad?'
'At the end of the road.'
'Right...'
'And your mum wanted to cross. So I crossed and waited for her, and she was nowhere in sight.'
'You mean you walked on and left her?'
'No!'
'Did she cross the road?'
'Yes!'
'And then what happened? Were you walking ahead of her?'
'No! We were just walking together.'
OK. At this point I realise we're getting nowhere. I know roughly where mum was last seen, and roughly how long ago. It will take me almost an hour to get there, so I need to call someone. It has to be either Regan, whose house is 10 minutes away by car, or the police. I call Regan's mobile, but she doesn't answer. I leave a message saying I will call the police in 20 minutes if I don't hear from her.
Meanwhile dad calls. Mum has been brought home by Emma, the lady next door, who found her at the shopping mall. He puts mum on the phone. I have to say that she sounds excited rather than frightened. She tries to tell me the whole story (meanwhile my colleagues are all eyes and ears, trying to figure out what is happening). It seems no harm was done.
The meeting starts again, only to be interrupted by Regan's call. It is a terrible line; I can hardly make out a word she says, so I simply say 'forget my earlier call, everything has been sorted out.'
So, questions...
Could this be the beginning of the wandering stage?
Will we ever hear the end of this from Emma, who is convinced she is the only person who cares about mum and dad?
Did mum do it on purpose?
How can dad be so hopeless as to lose mum on a quiet suburban street?
Comments
Well, one bright spot in all this is that your mom had "an awfully big adventure" and was excited, rather than scared. When I read that I grinned. Believe me, I know all the cautionary notes and scary tales about wandering Ancient Ones (even though my mom hasn't experienced wandering dementia), and I'm sure you had such a fright over the incident that you're not interested in the "cheerleading" slant on the wandering demented, but, you know, good for your mom that, even in her dementia, she has an appreciation of adventure. I'm thinking, now, of all your Mom's previous adventures as she followed your Dad, and her eagerness, hardiness and adaptability. Thank Mercury that some traits die hard! I think I'm falling in love with your mom. Your Dad sounds like a good fellow, I certainly have no problems with him, but, there's something about your mom...what a trooper!
And, bad on Emma that, being a "guest", she brings judgment to your family's table without and instead of sympathy. "Judge not, that yet be not judged," Emma. Reminds me a bit of Jane Austen's "Emma". Ah! Is this name also a pseudonym?
I'm pleased to read that your colleagues allowed themselves to be caught up in the your mystery (and misery). Restores a bit of my faith in humanity.
AFTERTHOUGHT:
Consider, too, Mike, that your mom probably would not have escaped panic in regard to her adventure if somewhere, beneath the tangles of dementia, she did not feel inherently safe. Although I tend to think, being one of those hardy fools who feels safe anywhere and, thus, will go anywhere, that having an inherent feeling of safety is congenital, I also think, especially now, considering that your mom is at least peripherally aware of her mental ineptitude, that a large part of her feeling of inherent safety is your family's doing. I know it makes caring for her harder, but, at least she is not cringing in an anxiety ridden corner. Credit where credit is due, Mike.