Arden’s heart stopped for a beat.
“It’s what we call ‘reminiscence therapy,’ and it may help her remember her past. You can pull out old pictures, play her favorite music, put together a memory album—a sort of life-story book—in order to encourage her to talk about the past. That can help jog memory—both long-and short-term. It will help keep her mind active and engaged, and helps allow Jake to incorporate routine without it seeming as a threat. This also lets you hear stories she might not be able to relay to you one day.”
Arden winced. The last thing I want is to return to the past.
“Ms. Lindsey, I know it’s hard, but please know this: Your mother needs you now more than ever.”
*
Rosemary Clooney crooned from the car radio as Arden drove back to the cabin. Lolly had found an oldies station.
Arden kept looking over at her mom and in the mirror at her daughter. Arden felt as off course as the meandering roads that led to Lost Land Lake.
Arden could feel her hands shaking on the wheel trying to figure out what to tell Lolly and Lauren about Lolly’s condition. She tightened her grip to keep herself from crying.
Overhead, the blue skies were quickly giving way to dark clouds and a rumble of thunder. Without warning, the skies opened, and Arden had no choice but to pull off the road by a farm.
The rain pounded the car and slid down the windows in thick sheets.
“Look how beautiful,” Lauren said, putting her face to the back window. “All that green. The rain makes it look like a thick oil painting.”
Arden’s guilt magnified.
“How are you feeling, Mom?”
Arden tilted her head at her mom.
“So very serious,” Lolly said.
“I am serious, Mom, because this is serious.” Arden sighed. “I know the doctor didn’t tell you much about your medical issues…”
“I’m getting old, Arden.”
“Well, we need to address your memory issues,” Arden started gingerly. “There are some big issues we need to discuss.”
“You’ve said ‘issues’ about a hundred times in the last few seconds, my dear,” Lolly said, turning down the radio. “As the kids say today: What’s the 411, bro?”
Arden took a deep breath. “When I spoke to the doctor, she told me that she had diagnosed you with MCI, which is mild cognitive impairment. The doctor says it is a stage between normal forgetfulness due to aging and the development of dementia.”
Lolly clucked her tongue. “MCI … CSI … HBO … LOL.
“YOLO,” Lolly continued. “Right, Lauren?”
“That’s right, Grandma,” Lauren laughed, sharing a long look with her grandmother before Arden interrupted.
“Mom, I know you want to make light of this … I know that’s the way you’ve always dealt with the difficulties in your life, but we’re going to tackle this together, okay? I have someone scheduled to come out to help you get started with some new medication, a routine, meals, PT, and mental exercises … And we’re going to start with some therapy, too. For the body and mind. We’re going to share some memories.”
Lolly chuckled. “Memories are very different from mental exercises, my dear.”
Lolly stopped and looked her daughter squarely in the eyes. “I told you, I’m getting old, Arden. Period. Not really much of a surprise there.”
“Mom, I don’t think you want to talk about it because, well, maybe you’re depressed. And that’s totally understandable. We can get you help for that.”
Lolly smiled and looked at the vista beyond the car. Her face—bright with makeup—shone with an inner light.
“I’m not depressed, Arden,” Lolly said. “And I don’t need help for depression. I’ve had an amazing life. One filled with blessings I could never have imagined. Depressed is the last thing I am. Realistic, yes. Sad, never.”
Lolly reached out and patted her daughter’s leg. “This is actually going to be more difficult on you and Lauren than it is on me. Yes, my life isn’t a walk in the park, but whose is?”
Lolly cranked the radio back on, and Dean Martin came on without warning.
“I think that’s enough talk about ‘issues’ today,” Lolly said, ending the discussion. “I’m tired, and I have to work tomorrow. I’d like to get a little rest before then.”
The rain began to slow, and sunshine filtered through the pines.
Arden rolled down her window—the smell of fresh pine invading her senses—and started the car. As she drove, she heard a soft flitter, and then she saw it—a flock of dragonflies rushing by her car.
Arden thought of the charm her mother had bought her so long ago, and shook her head at its erroneous premonition.
To a life filled with good fortune, indeed, Mom.
Seven