...at 4 o'clock. In the morning. Seems Maria (that's my mom) and her dementia thought someone was being held captive in my car. That someone was my dad. Who died in February. She could have walked down the hall and told us about the "problem", but that would have been too easy and a dull story. So, she went outside to investigate for herself.
The neighbor is not a big sleeper and the light in her living room drew in mom like the proverbial moth. What an Asian lady with a pronounced accent was able to say to a Greek woman whose command English is deteriorating is a mystery, but it was enough to convince mom to let the lady walk her back home.
Her leaving the house was new, time of night notwithstanding, meaning countermeasures were necessary. After consultations with Homeland Security, the NSA, and a couple of ex-Special Ops contacts, we went with child-proofing tools and physics. Doorknob covers, a monitor at the front door, and re-arranged furniture to cover the back prevented further escapes, but these remedies mostly served to raise mom's agitation level beyond our ability to manage.
A couple of near-sleepless nights later (which makes for interesting lecture participation, by the way), we are preparing for another transition, one that involves a place that makes sure there are no late-night jaunts. It's not what the plan was and, frankly, feels a bit like failure. On the other hand, we're not medical professionals and this is a disease beyond our ability to control. Some lucid moments remain but the toughest part is knowing that the present day is the best that person is ever going to be. Try wrapping your head around that concept.
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