I can't imagine how it must be for someone like my 95-year old Mother, who has lost her ability to retain short-term memory. I figured out, after observing her for many months, that she negotiates her environment by means of visual cues. That is to say, that most of the time she needs actually to see something (which she has seen many times before), in order then to 'remember' it. The saying, "Out of sight, out of mind," is quite literally true in her case. What that means for her, though, is that she may not really know where she is, or what is going on, at any given moment. She cannot contextualize her moment-by-moment experience; she can't connect the dots, as it were. Thus it seems (to an observer, at least) as though she is perpetually lost in the world.
"What place is this?" is an important question I gladly answer for her, at least a dozen or more times during each of my visits with her. Thankfully to God, that hasn't too often appeared to trouble her overmuch. Though there have been times during the past year or so, as her condition has steadily worsened, when that I have seen her nearly in tears, disoriented and afraid. Needless to say, it breaks my heart.
When, last night, I arrived at the building where my Mother has lived for the past two-and-a-half years, there were numerous security personnel from that facility, together with a few policemen from the local community, and perhaps twelve or more staff members of that facility ~ all looking for my Mother. It was then about 10:30pm.
Her bed had not been disturbed. Which meant that she had probably been 'missing' since before her usual bedtime (around 6pm). For the next hour or so, I searched from the top to the bottom of that four-storey building, three times. Not a sign of her. I did discover, however, that she was 'traveling' with her purse, her oversized-large print Bible, and one of her favorite picture frames. So, she couldn't have gone very far, nor very fast. Nevertheless, after I thoroughly searched the building, I then drove around the neighborhood, praying, and looking into every dark recess, and hoping ~ really hoping ~ that I wouldn't find her 'out there.' I didn't. But I can't say that was much of a relief.
11:30pm. Back at the facility it was as if a swarm of bees had descended on that place. The facility director, as well as the nurse manager, at that late hour had left their homes to come and help in the search. "We're going to review the tapes from the security cameras," the director informed me; "perhaps, we can see if, and when, she may have gone out of the building."
Again, I looked in bathrooms and laundry rooms, and opened every unlocked door that did not have some resident's name on it. I even looked, carefully, underneath stairwells. I found myself thinking about what possible state of mind my Mother could be in, such that she might have curled up beneath a stairwell to find shelter and security. One wrong turn in a hallway and all of her usual visual clues would have suddenly disappeared. She could thus have become hopelessly lost in the same building where she has lived for the past two years and more. But for her, I reckon, it would not be any different than if she were in another city.
The chief of security kindly interrogated me ~ like a blue-tick hound dog sniffing out a scent-trail. I volunteered to text him a recent picture of my Mother.... Just then a message came through his radio: amidst the muffled static I thought I heard, "We think we've found her!"
We took the elevator to the third floor. There at the end of a long hallway was gathered the proud rescue party ~ all crowded into a resident's private apartment. "Your Mom's all tucked in and sound asleep in Martha's bed," one of the staff happily said to me. It took me only a second to figure out that Martha was the one in her nightgown ~ and who was very much awake and obviously quite confused about what was going on.
"I sat with her in the dining room, at suppertime," Martha pleaded, almost tearfully. "She told me she had nowhere to stay. So, I told her she could stay with me." Instantly, I loved Martha. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I'm so very sorry, to have caused all this trouble." I gently placed my hand on her arm and, looking intently into her eyes, I said: "Martha, my Mother had no place to stay ~ and you took her in. And for that, I will be eternally grateful to you."
My Mother has never had any trouble sleeping. There she was, all wrapped up in Martha's blankets on Martha's bed ~ oblivious to the fact that a convention of nurses and law enforcement personnel was assembled in the next room, at midnight, for her sake.
"Mother," I whispered just loud enough to wake her, "we need to go to your apartment." "I'm sound asleep, honey," she managed to reply, as if she knew perfectly well what she should be doing at that moment. I found her Bible and picture frame neatly placed on the headboard of the bed; her purse securely nestled in the blankets with her.
As we were leaving Martha's apartment, she and my Mother patted each other's arms as they briefly exchanged their "Thank you," and "I'm so sorry" ~ together with embarrassed smiles and an almost imperceptible kind of knowing look. I suppose those who, by reason of age they have more experience, better understand such things.
As I walked with my Mother down the hallway toward the elevator, I urged her: "You really should put your shoes on, Mom." "No, I'm just fine," she replied.
"Yes, thank God, you are," I assured her.
"What place is this?" she inquired.
"This ~ is the safest place in the world, Mother."
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