“What’s the name of that lady?”
“The one with the horse farm?”
“The one across from the old house?”
“The one from Senator Bell farm?”
She’s exasperated and I want to help and I am so tempted to just say, “I know who you mean.” But then if there’s a follow up question about the lady will I know the answer? Will she know if I make it up? What if she does and it makes it worse? What do I do! These conversations are frequent and frustrating… and other F words come to mind.
Finally, she is able to grab onto the name and spit it out. “Beth! Beth is the one I mean.”
“Okay, yes.” Beth doesn’t own a horse farm, but that isn’t really the point, is it. “I know Beth.”
Long pause. Giant sigh. “What was I going to say about Beth?” she asks.
I hate Alzheimer’s.