The Parable of the Missing Wallet

 

We looked everywhere and could not find my sister’s wallet.  The house was one continual round of activity, the kind that surrounds a family celebration, and it was time to go to the bakery and pick up the cake.  We all know what those days are like.  Every member of the family is coming over.  The fatted calf is on the spit, tables are being set up under tents in the yard, and at least six coolers of beverages are already on the patio.  But where was that wallet? 

The only person not involved in the search was my mother.  She had recently come to live with my sister as her declining health precluded her from living alone.  Mom sat at her place of choice at the kitchen table, sipping her bottomless cup of coffee, and telling everyone that they need to put things away in the proper place and then they wouldn’t get lost.  Her lecture on wise living was not helping.  My nieces decided to skip the sermon and go get the cake themselves.  Lucky kids!

Turning to the rest of the food prep I headed for the pantry to get some flour to make gravy, and that was when I found the wallet.  I opened the canister and there was Sis’s wallet, resting on the flour.  Raised in a family that brooked no profanity, I am still sure that the words that came out of my mouth were, “What the hell????”  [What can I say, I was always Mom’s wild child.]

It was then that Mom looked at the circle of confused faces around the kitchen and said that she had put the wallet in the flour to keep it from getting lost.

Three things happened that afternoon.  First, mother had not just misplaced something, she had put it in a wholly inappropriate place.  Second, she had forgotten what she had done, even in the face of everyone talking about trying to find the wallet.  Third, when we gently questioned her about her actions, she became defensive, accusatory and angry. 

These were red flags about the deteriorating state of Mom’s mind.  We ignored every one of them.  Our Mom could not suffer from dementia.  She had been the bookkeeper for the City and County of Denver.  She was smart and a wiz at math.  She had been the rock of the family.  Mom’s mind could never fail her.  Of course, we were wrong. 

Seven years later, the last time I saw her alive, my mother did not recognize me, and that cut like a knife.  There is a lesson to learn from this.

I used to say that I would vote for any person who had a sound understanding of economics, a realistic foreign policy and a sense of social justice.  I would now add one more requirement.  I would not vote for anyone who was past the age of 76, or who would reach that age during the time of their tenure.  I think this should be the law of the land.  Without even trying, I can give you the names of several Congressmen, Senators and certainly our former and current President who should not be trusted with the ship of state.  All the signs are there: confusion, disorientation, memory loss, poor judgement, irritability, and paranoia.

I do not want to risk this nation on what our current President, who is demonstrating many of the signs of dementia, has left in his mental tank.  Neither should you.  Even if you like his policies do you really believe that there are not better ways, wiser minds and younger hands to get it done without the danger and drama?

Keep watching for that wallet in the flour canister and keep the faith.