When Marion got home from work, there was an odd kind of smell in the house. Not a good smell. A sort of threatening somewhat burning smell.
“Mom?” she called. But Alzheimer Granny was asleep on the sofa.
“Mom?” said Marion, shaking her mother gently awake. Then Marion realized the smell was coming from the kitchen and getting stronger.
She ran to the kitchen. No, all the burners on the stove were off. It wasn't that. Or… was it? There was a trickle of smoke coming from the oven. She pulled the oven door open.
“Oh my God!” she cried out. Something was in there. Burning. And it sure didn't look like food. Swiftly, she pulled on oven gloves and dragged out the content of the oven, turning off the burner at the same time. She dumped everything in the sink and turned on the cold water. Hissing steam and whimpering smoke combined to fill the air.
At that point, the back opened and Jill came in.
“Hi, Marion, I just – oh heavens, what's that?”
“That's what I'm wondering,” said Marion grimly.
Together they pulled at the smoking pile.
“My goodness,” said Jill laughing, “This would appear to be bedsheets.”
“Bedsheets?”
They looked at each other and then Marion said, “Mom, could you come in here a minute, please?”
Alzheimer Granny wandered into the kitchen and stared at the sink.
“What did you do, honey?”
“I think the question is, what did YOU do, Mom?”
Her mother looked down at her feet.
“Well?”
“Oh honey, I was just trying to help,” she whispered. Jill went to stand beside Alzheimer Granny.
“Why were those sheets in the oven, Mom?” Marion demanded.
“I don't know.”
Jill said kindly, “I bet your Mom was trying to dry them.”
“Yes, I was,” Alzheimer Granny pouted.
“Dry them? In the oven?” Marion's voice rose at each sentence.
Jill took her by the elbow and firmly steered her out of the kitchen into the back yard.
“Sit!” Marion sat on the garden bench.
“She's making me crazy!” hissed Marion.
“No, she's just doing her best with dementia. You heard her, she was drying sheets for you.”
“In the oven?”
“Sweetheart,” said Jill very nicely to her friend, “Your mother has Alzheimer's. She was thinking the dementia way. And, by the way, she's been feeding cat food to the squirrels.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she has dementia, honey. She can't think as straight as she used to. It's her illness. Don't blame her for that.”
“Does this mean I can't leave her alone any more?”
“Well, that's possible. It certainly means you have to childproof the house. Turn off the oven gas supply. There's a tap just behind the stove. No matches. That kind of thing.”
“Oh Jill, what am I going to do?”
“Why don't you and I help make a safety plan. I do it all the time for my patients,” Jill was a community nurse doing house calls on a mainly elderly clientele.
“Would you do that?”
“I'll do for a good dinner, okay. How about tonight and you and I can work on it after your Mom goes to bed.”
“Oh thank you so much! I should have done this before.”
“Well, maybe this just the right time now. You go smooth your Mom down. She's bit upset. Tell her you're sorry.”
Marion glowered.
“Stop right there or I'll poison your dinner.”
“See you tonight,” said Jill.
Marion went in to find her Mom sitting on the sofa, still looking upset.
“Oh Mom,” sighed Marion, “What are we going to do?”
“We'll manage, honey!”
