I love my sister, Lisa, but there are days when time traveling with her can be tricky. Given her intellectual disabilities and the challenges of aging, I’m growing less certain about her accurate recall of family events and incidents. I’m noticing that she has a way of ‘patchwork-quilting‘ moments together – retrieving memories from the slideshow in her head that must be more mixed up than my own some days.
When our mom, Sue’s dementia took hold it became obvious; the fragments of lies and distortions – secrets she’d tried valiantly to hide for decades, were revealed. Secrets she managed to keep quiet when she had the cognitive capacity to track her own manipulations. But when aging and dementia arrived, Sue was less capable of covering her tracks.
I wonder, with Lisa – given her low IQ and developmental disabilities – what memory issues will look like for her, if they appear. I’ve mentioned to her team of fabulous care givers that a specialized evaluation might be in order; how is early onset of dementia diagnosed for someone like my sweet sister?
In the interim, Lisa’s stories – increasingly – come with a heavy dose of salt. Not just a grain of salt; more like a teaspoon or two. I listen and nod as she samples from her memory banks – time traveling across six decades, sharing incidents both joyful and horrifying. She knows I’m the safest listening ear in her world and while I don’t mind, I’ve still got bits of “Sue residue” within me. Lisa’s stories can take me to dark places I’d rather forget, but I put my professional hat on; I focus on Lisa’s words, aware that she might be applying old hurts to new situations. Sue was an adversary. When others trigger Lisa in similar ways – tone of voice, turn of a phrase – I wonder – is Lisa still in the moment, or does she see (and feel) the wrath of Sue?
When Lisa’s stories take her to a joyous place I’m ever grateful. It might be a song on the radio, a TV program or a specific food. It might be a moment in the car when she recalls many, many cross-country trips where she and I were captive in a backseat for hours as little tykes. Our parents loved road trips, and they loved driving…and smoking. Lisa and I would amuse ourselves with snacks and games, sticking our heads out the windows to remind ourselves what fresh air smelled like. Mostly we got along…except for an incident that’s still vivid in Lisa’s mind…because she got me in trouble. 😉
I think this is a smile-worthy Lisa story. I hope you enjoy.
(I’m not relying on Lisa’s memory alone here. I remember, too. Not just the incident but the endless retelling of the story, intending to shame me – or told to generate laughter.)
Lisa says we were driving through the Great Smoky Mountains. I’m guessing she was about seven-years old, and I must’ve been five. Our parents, Sue and Sonny, had a fondness for convertibles and driving through the mountains with the top down was nirvana for them. But given the rainy conditions that day, the top was up and the tedium of being stuck in the backseat – hungry and car sick – must’ve been too much for me. Lisa says I threw up. I don’t remember that, but I do know I had my own barf bag in the seat pocket from an early age. No seat belts but barf bags and blankets and far too much candy. I still get motion sickness and the smell of cigarette smoke = instant headache. I still love candy, too.
Lisa says I was craaaaaanky on the day in question. Lisa says I pinched her legs when she tried to stretch out across the backseat. She’d broken a leg the year before and although I understand – now – her legit need to stretch out, I was five. Her legs on my side of the backseat? Full-on invasion, worthy of retaliation.
Lisa says I pinched and poked her some more, and she didn’t budge.
Lisa says I screamed:
“Get on your own side, you little b*stard!”
I dunno. Maybe so. I remember Sonny pulling over at the next rest stop and telling me b*stard was a really bad word. Sue was soothing Lisa, who trumped up her injuries, wailing in pain. (Seed planting for Lisa…when she was in pain…real or performative…Sue paid attention to her.)
Told and retold, it was a funny story about Vicki misbehaving…blah, blah, blah.
The remarkable part of Lisa’s weekend retelling? She captured an aspect of truth and said,
“You didn’t really hurt me that day, Vicki. I remember.”
Confessional? Decades after the fact? I dunno. I smiled and told her it was all okay.
Lisa seemed satisfied. She patted my knee and changed the subject…asking what we were having for lunch. Happy for the detour, we discussed options but I was far away. Thinking about our parents and the gratitude I feel for being Lisa’s sister, by her side for this wonderful wild ride.
-Vicki 😊
Loving Lisa: “I’m Like the Others” – Victoria Ponders
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue | Eckhartz Press.
Check out this link to learn more about my book “Surviving Sue” – all about resilience and love.
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Victoria Ponders 
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