Mississippi Counting

Cut to June 1, 2019.
2:41 p.m.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

I looked up to find the rhythmic sound’s source. It’s the unhurried cane of an extremely elderly lady crossing the street. No, this isn’t a setup to a joke. It’s something profound that actually happened to me.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

She’s managed to make it halfway. I’m not sure if she needs help but it’s a busy thoroughfare (as busy as it gets in the sleepy San Francisco surburb of Dublin, California, anyway.) So I offered her my arm. She snatched my hand with the strength of nine nonagenarians.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

At last, we made it to the other side. There’s a neighborhood park with a 1/4 mile walking track, a playground and a mini dog run. Perhaps she’s headed to the annual Corgi Con happening today, I wondered. I saw a woman sitting on a bench inside the Canine Corral consoling the only dog that didn’t fit in. She looked up from her sulking Schnauzer and locked eyes with me. We studied each other’s situations with a smirk of solidarity. I can only imagine what she must have thought. What a sight the two of us must have been. Me, a conspicuously undersized and overly-pale girl of ambiguous age having just come from the pool — wearing only a bikini. Her, an incredibly dark-skinned Indian woman with a vice grip on my fingers who was fully-shrouded in a sari — and even shorter than me.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

Slowly, we left Corgi Con and Tormented Terrier in our wake.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

I had no idea where this woman was going. I just trusted that when we got there, she’d let go. So we kept on in silence, with only the sounds of a clockwork cane and oddly-proportioned dogs barking in the background. We walked without words, fully aware we didn’t share a common language. Not a verbal one, anyway.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

After a half hour of inching counterclockwise around a loop that I can do in five minutes flat, we circled back, hand-in-hand, to the crosswalk where fate brought us together. There’s a 55+ Senior Center on the other side. Surely that’s where she lives? No. We pass it by.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

She pointed with her cane to turn left. We crossed the gate to an elevator where a few residents were also boarding. They patiently waited and held the door open as it beeped angrily. They asked where we were going. I told them that I had no idea. When they realized we didn’t know each other, they asked if the woman was lost. I said that I wasn’t sure but I was letting her lead the way. The old woman tightened her grip as she leaned in close enough to the see the elevator buttons and pointed at the top floor with her nose. I was losing circulation. But not hope. A young lady pressed the button for us. Once we ascended, the others scattered with the quickness of youth, not wanting to get involved in what seemed to be a case of dementia. So the two of us were left standing at another crossroad. She contemplated. And chose a direction without any real confidence. But she led me leftward to the end of a long walkway. Which led to another long walkway. That’s when she let go of my hand, looked up at me for the first time, smiled toothlessly, and patted me on my now-sunburned back.

I stared down that long, dark, lonely hallway.

There was no way I was just going to leave her there.

Click.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Click.

With the hand that had once held mine so tightly, she used the wall to steady herself. I walked with her to the last door, again on the left, as she draped her shawl over her head. She turned the nob and opened the unlocked door. Her family stood up from their sofa in silent unison. I’m not sure if it was as a sign of respect or relief. Maybe both. But I asked if she belonged to them, and they simply nodded “yes” in appreciation. I wept, overcome with emotion, wondering if I rescued her. Or if she rescued me. Maybe both. I walked away at her pace thankful that I knew the right way home. All right turns. A metaphor that was not lost on me.

Cut to the present moment.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how a nearly-blind perfect stranger helped me see the light. There are so many precious moments to be had if you slow down long enough to appreciate them. So count your Mississippis, my friends. Time is a blessing. And there’s no better way I could have spent mine that day.

…

#PyleOfMemories is a series developed for #DementiaAwareness as a reminder to write the good stuff down before it’s lost forever. It’s now a hilarious, heart-wrenching, and heartwarming book, written by 36 authors, as a fundraiser for #DementiaResearch. You can find it on Amazon at https://a.co/d/8EMFBdf.