I love flying west. It’s a form of magic – being able to gain time. To relive hours that you’ve already lived. To choose to make the same choices, or different ones.

This feeling is similar to the one I had when I was taking care of Mom, who had Alzheimer’s. Much of the time that I spent with her felt like Groundhog’s Day. She asked the same questions over and over. She made the same observations over and over. We had the same interactions over and over. In the very beginning, this irritated me. “I just told you!,” I thought in my head. And then it dawned on me what a precious offering was being presented.

If I got it wrong the first time (as I often did), I had multiple opportunities to improve. She didn’t remember the time I got it wrong, which was such a gift. If something I said made her upset, I could reflect on it, or speak to her Memory Care doctor, and learn what I could do better. I could improve the next time she queried (and there was always a next time. And a next.). And after two or three tries, we both were content with our interaction. 

Oh, if only life always offered that.