Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is

"You'll never guess what your brother said to me just a few minutes ago," prompted my mom in our five a.m. phone call yesterday.

{In order to keep on living independently in her own home, my aging mother has agreed to check in twice a day with one of her four offspring. For the past year or so, it's been my turn to take her calls.}

"Tell me," I groggily replied.

{Always one to operate on a precise schedule, my mom habitually calls me at eight a.m. and eight p.m., her time. Which translates to five a.m. and five p.m. my time. Our morning phone calls are usually brief, since I am more or less in hibernation mode.}

"He said, "Good morning!'" she exclaimed, with extra emphasis on the last two syllables.

Ba-dum ching. Clearly that was the punch line. But I didn't get it.

"I don't get it," I mumbled. "What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that?? Diane, it's night time!!"

Uh oh. Suddenly, I was wide awake. 

"Umm, what do you mean? Isn't it morning? Didn't you just eat your breakfast?"

"No, of course not!" she laughed. "It's night time, I just ate my dinner and now I'm watching my programs on TV and working on a puzzle."

Yep, those are her go-to evening activities. I maneuvered subtly. "Which program are you watching right now?"

"Nothing much really. None of the regular shows are on tonight. There's just some stupid exercise program."

Oh, dear.

I took a more direct approach. "Mom, look outside your window. Tell me exactly what you see."

"Well, it's snowing really hard. It's just white, white, white. In fact, the snow is so thick that the sky almost looks bright as day. But it's night."

Probably the most important strategy I've developed in dealing with my mother's changing mental capacity is to roll with her train of thought, whatever that might be. Rather than arguing, correcting or otherwise challenging her frame of reference, which only serves to further confuse and agitate her, I try to ask questions that will help her explain her thinking, so that I can best understand what is going on in her mind.  

A few more probing questions and unwavering answers left no doubt. Somehow, my mother's internal clock had shifted off track by twelve hours, and nothing I could possibly do or say was going to convince her that she was wrong. 

And for a couple minutes, that really bothered me.

But as I listened to her talk about the deep drifts of snow piling up in the streets - "Thank heavens all the neighbors are already home from work, safe inside for the night" - I began to rethink my concerns.

What difference does it make if she has temporarily confused day with night? 

Once the snow storms cease, and the light levels return to normal, she will most likely get back on track.

In the meantime, she is safe, warm and happy. She's not juggling knives, playing with matches, or wandering through the neighborhood. Her scrambled circadian rhythm will not harm her. 

So why should it trouble me?

And right about then, a song burst into my head. 

Planted there in the earliest days of my adolescent intellectual awakening, the lyrics filled me with new, complicated thoughts that echo to this day: What if time doesn't matter? Even more, what if our constant obsession with marking time and hurrying through our days actually robs us of some essential sweetness or inherent value in life? 

As I was walking down the street one day

A man came up to me and asked me what the time was that was on my watch

And I said

Does anybody really know what time it is

Does anybody really care

You know, I can't imagine why

We've all got time enough to cry

And I was walking down the street one day

A pretty lady looked at me and said her diamond watch had stopped cold dead

And I said

Does anybody really know what time it is

Does anybody really care

You know, I can't imagine why

We've all got time enough to cry

* * * * *

My mom called me tonight; as usual, she was right on schedule. "How's your morning going?" she asked cheerily.

"Well, it's evening here, Mom. I'm making tacos for dinner. Isn't it Saturday night at your house?"

"No!" came the perturbed reply. "It's morning! It must be morning because I just took my shower and my hair's still wet. My hair always dries by lunch. So it must be morning!!"

"Okay, Mom. That makes sense to me."

And I was walking down the street one day

Being pushed and shoved by people trying to beat the clock 

Oh, oh I just don't know, I don't know, I don't know

And I said

Does anybody really know what time it is

Does anybody really care

You know, I can't imagine why

We've all got time enough to die

Epilogue: Within 36 hours of her original moments of confusion, my mom not only realized her mistake and adjusted her schedule back into line but she was laughing about her big mix-up. All is well.

* * * * *

More stories about my mom:

Four Important Things About My Mother Bear

My Fashionista Mother

Mid-Century Hipster

The Story Of The Stair Steps

November Rose

White And Clean