Flash Non-Fiction: Training Camp by Sue Granzella

 By ​Sue Granzella

Mom’s calendar page boasted a busy week that August when she was living at Napa’s Redwoods, a retirement community. There were the usual events: Bingo, Wednesday luncheon, hair appointment, church. But that week, the activities director had organized two extra bus trips. Monday was a winery visit. Wrapped in the heady perfume of ripening grapes, guests would sample hors d’oeuvres and sip wine against the backdrop of Napa Valley’s lush vineyards. And for my eighty-two-year-old football-loving mother, Tuesday sounded even better. The Oakland Raiders had their summer training camp in Napa; Redwoods residents would watch the Raiders, and then go to lunch. 

Before I wrote the trips on Mom’s calendar during my weekly visit, my sister Nan and I discussed whether so much activity would be too much for our dementia-affected mother. But she so enjoyed social outings that we decided to sign her up. On trip day, Nan would call Mom when it was time for her to head downstairs for the bus. Nan would have to make many long-distance reminder calls that week, but Mom would have a great time. 

At 10:45 a.m. on Monday, Nan phoned but got no answer. After repeated tries, she gave up, figuring Mom either had somehow remembered to catch the bus, or she’d missed the winery trip and was downstairs visiting. 

I called all afternoon, finally catching Mom just before dinner. 
“There you are! Did you just get back from the winery?”  

Mom sounded cheery. “No, I’ve been here all day! I didn’t go anywhere.” 

Mom knew Bob, Redwoods’ driver. On lunch trips, he always kept an eye out for her. Whenever we called to prompt Mom to leave for an outing, Nan and I always said “Get on Bob’s bus.”

“Are you sure you didn’t go on Bob’s bus? Someplace where they had wine?”

 “No. Was I supposed to?” 

There was no point in telling her. We’d just try again the next day.

But Tuesday, Nan once again couldn’t reach Mom. Again, I hoped that she’d fallen in step with the rest and had gone to the Raiders’ practice. And once more, when I spoke with Mom later, she denied going out. 
Sensory clues sometimes helped trigger memories for Mom, so I tried a few.

“Was the sun in your eyes? Was there yelling and clapping? Did you see football players? Does that sound familiar?”

Mom was adamant. “No. I didn’t do any of that.” 
 
When I visited the next week, I opened her mini-fridge to grab a soda. Mom never took anything out of the fridge, but was diligent about putting things in. After I threw out a hardened brick of birthday cake, I spied a small bottle behind the Diet Coke. It was a Chimney Rock rosé. Though I assumed she wouldn’t remember where it had come from, I held it up. 

“Mom, where’d you get this bottle of wine? Did someone visit?”

“What bottle of wine?” There was no recognition on her face. I saw that it would be another mystery in our life with Mom, one more time when we knew the effect, but not the cause.

Later, I was sorting through her books and magazines. She enjoyed reading Nan’s old Danielle Steel romance novels. I didn’t know if she could follow the plots, but she always knew which books she’d finished.

“Yes! I read that one.” Mom jabbed her index finger toward the book.
I held up another.

“Nope! I’m still reading that.” Mom indicated the slip of paper sticking out. I was fascinated by her precision in marking her page, even though she’d likely forgotten everything that preceded it. Then I reached for some papers that had slipped behind the People magazines. 

What a cute picture! In the eight-by-ten glossy, a cluster of ladies and men stood under a brilliant blue sky on a grassy patch in front of Bob’s bus. A few were waving. Then I saw the emblem on the photograph. It said “Oakland Raiders.” How sweet of Bob to snag a souvenir for Mom even though she’d missed the trip! 

Then I saw a petite, familiar woman in the center of the festive group, and noticed the felt-pen autographs scrawled across the shiny photo. Not only had Mom made it to the Raider camp. She’d posed for pictures. She had probably shaken some players’ hands.

And she had forgotten it all by the time we spoke that same afternoon. But in the photo, no one was wearing a bigger smile than my mom.