The Right Way

As we were walking home along the busy street, Mom bolted from me and stepped right into the oncoming traffic.

“Mom!” I yelled. I followed her as she weaved her way across two lanes of traffic, remarkably without getting hurt. When I finally caught up with her, she was walking determinedly in the wrong direction. I grabbed her hand. “Are you okay?”

“I need to go home,” she said. Ever since her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, my mother could go abruptly from happy to angry in seconds, and it was often hard to dispel those black moods.

Now she was walking at a super-fast pace as I tried not to lag behind. I began to walk slower, hoping she’d feel the drag of my hand pulling her back. It worked because she slowed down. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I don’t know where I am,” she cried, panicking.

“I know where we are,” I said, stepping up to comfort her. “Look, it’s our favorite coffee shop. Let’s stop in and rest before we head home.”

We sat down in a familiar booth and ordered coffee and ice cream. Never mind that we’d be late getting home or that we’d ruin our appetites for dinner. This was what we both needed after that harrowing episode.

As a sense of calm and joy returned to Mom, I knew we could safely finish our journey home. I had guided her the right way, after all.