My parents, Jack and Diane, resembled the original old couple. Dad, a retired firefighter with a dad joke for any situation, and Mom, a former librarian who could keep you quiet until next week. I thought they were solid.
I was about 24, minding my own business and dealing with my own issues, when bam! They sat me down, as if it were an intervention, and revealed they were getting divorced.
“What?!” I spluttered, trying not to spill my drink everywhere. “But you guys are like the epitome of ’til death do us part’!”
Dad just shrugged, that sheepish grin of his plastered on his face. “Well, even poster children need a change of scenery sometimes.”
And Mom, with her usual scowl, chimed in, “Your father’s snoring is driving me to an early grave.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Mom, you wear earplugs to bed!”
Dad relocated to a bachelor apartment on the outskirts of town, surrounded by sports memorabilia, while Mom joined a book group that focused more on yoga than literature. Life went on like this for a few years. Dad’s house became an ESPN temple, while Mom’s book club evolved into a gossip circle for retirees.
Then, out of nowhere, Dad appears on Mom’s doorway one day with a bouquet of flowers and a bewildered expression on his face. «Um, hello, Diane,» he says, rubbing his head as if he had fleas. «Do I know you? » Mom squints at him, similarly bewildered. «You look familiar. Are you selling anything?
I’m standing there with my popcorn, watching the awkward reunion like it’s a sitcom.
It turns out that they were both diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Yes, both of them. They forgot they were divorced. And married for that matter. Talk about a storyline twist.
So there they were, these two forgotten lovers, rediscovering each other like awkward teens on their first date. Dad would bring Mom flowers every day, and Mom would look at him warily until she realized he wasn’t a door-to-door salesperson.
Their interactions were right out of a comic sketch. Dad would attempt to woo Mom with his finest dad jokes, only to forget the punchline halfway through. And Mom would try to shush him whenever he became too loud, only to forget why she was doing so in the first place.
And me? I’m stuck in the center of this circus, playing the frustrated daughter attempting to save her parents from burning down the house.
“Dad, stop trying to barbecue in the living room!” I’d yell, snatching the lighter out of his hand.
“But Sarah, I thought I was grilling steaks for your mother,” he’d protest, genuinely puzzled.
Mom would chime in from the other room, “And I thought I smelled something burning!”
It was chaotic, but there was a sweetness to it all. Seeing my parents find happiness in the midst of their forgetfulness reminded me that love truly knows no bounds.
