When you spend a good part of your time or life as a caregiver you find forgetting to be a common occurrence. I have classic tales about my Nana forgetting where she put her shoes, her wallet and most disturbingly…her teeth.
My mother-in-law would hide her “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” button in ‘safe’ places. Every time we went to the assisted living facility we would be ready for a game of hide-n-seek with the magic button, a button she would never push anyway.
My brother-in-law would forget where he put bills, checks and insurance papers all the time. He was actually happy when I agreed to clean up all his paperwork and just take over.
Eventually, with all this stress, the caregiver starts to be the one to forget. We all experience this as we get older. I’ll admit, it makes me panic a little. When you are too close to forgetfulness you start to think it’s a bad omen if it becomes a part of your day.
Since my caregiving has dwindled quite a bit in the last few years, I take bad memory very personally, like my brain is betraying me. I know it happens to all of us, and it is definitely a symptom of stress. But I have always known it’s a source of hilarity. And today was no exception.
As you may recall we have a very long driveway. So we put our trash cans and recycling in my SUV and drive it to the end of the driveway. A few months ago our new trash hauler required us to start using a large container for trash.
My husband’s pet peeve is that large, unsightly container defiling our cul-de-sac. So several yards before we get to the end of the driveway we pick up the large trash container, which is tucked in the woods, and wheel it down to the end of the driveway. Then we take the trash out of my car and put it in the container.
As the SUV is my car, my husband said,
“Hey, I loaded the trash in your car. Drive me down to the bin on your way to your dinner with your girlfriends.”
“Okay,” I said.
I stop the SUV where the bin is tucked away. My husband gets out. And I drive away.
Down the driveway, past the mailbox, through the cul-de-sac, down the steep hill to the end of the street.
My car makes a few weird noises. Now, I’m mad because I just got new tires. And my car stinks. What’s that all about?
I turn the corner, go around the bend, there’s that noise again. I look in the rearview mirror
and see the trash. I was taking the trash with me on a ‘girls night out.’
I found a driveway, turned around, went back up my street to the cul-de-sac, and I see my husband slowly walking back towards the house shaking his head in disbelief.
I’m laughing so hard, it’s silent. I can’t speak. He just looks at me.
“I was waving my hands and yelling, ” he said so plaintively. “I called your cell phone and you didn’t answer. I couldn’t believe in a nano second you forgot that you had the trash in the car and just drove away.”
He’s officially worried.
“You Just have to Laugh….”
©2017 Cathy Sikorski