A Mother Would Know (3)

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetie.” Mom put her arm around my sister, and they started to walk away.

Reluctantly, I followed. When we got around the corner, my sister pointed to the monkeys and squealed. “Let’s go there!”

I frowned. We’d already seen the monkeys twice today. Why couldn’t we stay at the tigers?

Andie turned to me and stuck out her tongue. As I glared back, Mom’s words floated through my mind: “Just because something’s cute doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous.”





2





As I make dinner later, the calendar on the wall taunts me, reminding me why I asked Hudson to come. Every square written in. Filled with things I’m afraid I’ll forget. Neon-colored Post-it Notes are stuck all over the fridge, reminders of where I left my keys, my purse, what time to take my medication.

My life hasn’t always been like this.

It started with small things. A word on the tip of my tongue and then, poof, gone. Never to be remembered again. Keys lost, then found hours later in a place I hadn’t recalled leaving them. Misplacing basic household items. Putting them away where they clearly didn’t belong. A couple of times I’d forgotten to put food out for Bowie.

But the last straw was a month ago.

Kendra called me around six o’clock at night, frantic, out of breath. “Are you almost here?” she asked.

Sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under my body, a glass of wine in hand, I said, “Am I supposed to be?”

“Are you serious, Mom?” she huffed. “You’re supposed to watch Mason tonight.”

“I am?” After setting my wine on the end table, I slid off the couch, hurried into the kitchen.

“Yes, I have class, and Theo is working late,” she said impatiently, as if we’d already been through this. But I had no recollection of it.

I stood in front of the calendar tacked to the wall. Kendra harped on me about using the one in my phone, but I preferred the old method. I liked seeing it sprawled out in front of me in a tangible way. Kendra had to be wrong. Maybe she’d forgotten to ask me. When I looked at the day in question, my mouth dried out. Mason, 5:30 p.m., I’d written.

“Oh, my god.” My hand flew to my face. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right over.” I was grateful I’d only just poured my first glass of wine.

“No.” A heavy breath floated through the phone. “I’m already late for class, anyway. It’s not even worth it at this point.”

After saying goodbye, I hung up, dread filling me. This was far from over. Kendra would add this to the growing list of disappointments that she’d throw at me whenever she needed to make a point or get a dig in.

It’s safe to say, she’s not my mini-me. We’re completely opposite. I don’t mind it. I’m proud of the woman Kendra has become. A good wife, and a great mom to a sweet baby boy. Not to mention that she does all this while juggling the demands of nursing school, preparing for a career in caring for others.

Even though I could never live her life, it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. Kendra has a much harder time with our differences. She’s never understood me.

I remember feeling that way about my own mom. Incidentally, I think Kendra is a lot like she was. If only Kendra could’ve gotten to know her better before her mind went. My mother was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s when I was in my thirties, she in her fifties.

I’ll never forget the first time she forgot who I was. I knew about her disease, but so far she’d forgotten items, where she was, how she’d gotten there, where she’d left things, what she’d been doing when she walked into a room. People, she still recognized. The few important ones, at least. I’d gone to my parents’ house for a visit, holding a bouquet of spring flowers—violet and pink hues—my mom’s favorites. I’d said, “Hello,” and handed them to her, then leaned down to kiss her cold cheek. But she’d pulled back, stared up at me, lips stretching out and eyes widening into an expression akin to terror. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“It’s Valerie, Mom,” I said firmly. “Your daughter.”

My explanation only seemed to confuse her further.

It was like a plunge into icy waters that stole my breath. Took the wind out of me.

The disease transformed my smart, capable mom into a confused child. Nothing could stop it. And that’s the reason I refuse to see a doctor, despite all of Kendra’s pressuring. I know what I have, and I know what it will do to me. There’s no magic pill or cure.

Turning away from the calendar, I peek inside the oven to check on the lasagna. Heat blows over my face, bringing with it the scent of cheese and tomato sauce. Lasagna had been Hudson’s favorite when he was younger. I hope it still is.

He’s been in his room all day. I can hear the television blaring through the wall, and I kind of wish I hadn’t put one in there for him.

I wanted to spend the afternoon catching up. For the past few days, I’ve been anxious for Hudson to be here. To finally have another body in the house. Noise. Commotion. Excitement.

After Darren passed away, the hardest part for me was the silence. I’d wake up in the morning, expecting to smell coffee in the air, hear him puttering around downstairs. Even though it’s been five years, I’m still not used to the silence. Ultimately, it’s the reason I got Bowie. My friendly chocolate Lab has been the best companion the past few years. He’s kept me sane.