The Toughest Woman I Know

Donald Rogers
October 17, 2015


The Toughest Woman I Know

“What are you keeping from me?” she asked, an accusing look in her eye.
“Nothing” I replied. “What do you mean?”
“Well, where did the boy come from?”
“Which boy?”
“The little baby boy I carried home in my arms over the mountain” she said.
“Let’s lay down on the bed, and we’ll talk about it” I suggested. “This may take awhile.”
“Are you talking about Wes?” I continued after we got comfortable face to face on the bed.
My heart fell when she said, “Yes.”
The holes in her memory are getting into major stuff. Last spring it was a granddaughter she lost. Now it’s our son.
“I remember holding the baby in my arms as you drove back home,” she said. “But you didn’t say where he came from. Is he ours? Who gave him to us?”
“You did,” I said. “We drove ninety miles in a snowstorm across Dallas Divide, between Nucla and Montrose, Colorado, to get to the hospital where you gave birth to Wes.”
There was a long silence as Carolyn tried to retrieve the memory—without success.
Finally she asked, “Are you sure?”
“You are going to have to trust me.” I told her. “This damn disease you have is breaking down connections in your brain. You don’t have to try to remember if the memory isn’t there “
Tears appeared in her eyes.
Mine, too.
After a minute she said,”But I don’t want to forget everything. I want to get better again!”
“I want you to get better, too,” I said. But I don’t know how to help you. I’d give anything to make this go away!”
There was a long pause as we both contemplated the future.
“Were you with me in the hospital?”
“Yes, I held your hand and we practiced deep breathing and relaxation as the contractions came, just like we had read in that Lamaze book.”
“Was there a mean old nurse?” she asked.
It seemed to me she remembered the event, or at least some of it. She just couldn’t place it in context.
“Yes, there was," I answered. “But you made a believer out of her before it was over. There was a young girl in the next bed, also in labor, and she was screaming and making a lot of noise, so the nurses were spending most of their time with her. When she finally came over to see how you were doing, she nearly panicked, because you were ready to deliver. That old nurse really admired your quiet courage. I think it was her last day on the job before she retired.”
“Yeah" Carolyn said. “She kept saying ‘don’t push, don’t push’ as they wheeled me in the gurney down to the delivery room.”
“So that was Wes, huh?”  She paused, and then said, “Where is he now?”
“He lives in Oregon with his wife Theresa and our granddaughter Paige.”
“That is the same one?” she asked.
“I have an idea, “ I told her. “Even though your memory has holes in it, if you let me retell the story, we can enjoy the recollection together, and maybe some of those memories can go back to some other part of your brain for a while. I would love to tell those stories again if you would like.”
“I’d like that, “ she said. “I love you!”
“I love you, too!” I said.