I had to drive my daughter back to school. It isn't far so I actually talked Grace into riding with us. I was so proud to see my daughter taking the initiative to walk her grandmother carefully out to the car. She spoke to her so patiently, reassuring every step. That kind of stuff makes my heart smile.
My daughter and I talked the whole time, while my mother clung to the door as if she were on an amusement park ride (no, I'm actually a rather conservative driver). She tried to figure out where she was and for the most part muttered. The good news is that she wasn't angry or paranoid, just tense.
On the ride home she spoke to me more. She was trying to read the signs and guess where we were going to turn next. She kept saying that if I let her out RIGHT THERE, she'd have no idea how to get home.
Then some of the false memories surfaced. As we went down one street in Evanston, she said that this is the street where her grandson met his wife. Actually they met in Canada. So she's a tad off. I just said "Oh, right." Why correct her? What's the harm?
We passed her old high school, and she didn't recognize it. Yet later we passed a much smaller school and wanted to know if that was her old high school.
I can't imagine what it's like to get in a car and have no idea where you are. It must be like those dreams I have where I'm home but it doesn't look like home and then suddenly I'm somewhere else.
Only she's never waking up. She's only falling deeper and deeper asleep.