When Alzheimer’s Took the Keys-5

    Part 5 : How We Talk About Alzheimer’s

My mother called me at work in the ER and said my dad had come home without my three-year-old son.

My dad, who had Alzheimer’s, had left the house hours earlier.And now he was home without him.

She wanted to know if I knew where he was.

Holy crap.

My dad had been gone for hours. We had no idea where he’d been—or where my child was.

When my mom asked my dad where my son was, he looked confused. He said he didn’t have him. Then he began to wonder if maybe he had had him—and had put him in danger.

He couldn’t remember.

This happened in 1992 or 1993. Cell phones weren’t common. And because we never talked openly about Alzheimer’s with my father, we had never talked about when he should stop

driving—or being responsible for the grandkids.

We started trying to retrace my dad’s steps.

We decided he had probably gone to my brother’s warehouse. Before I could call my brother, he called me—on his brick cell phone.

He had my son in the back seat of his car.

My dad had gone to the warehouse before lunch and spent time there, talking with my brother and moving boxes around. My three-year-old wandered the warehouse. At some point, he climbed into the back of a box truck being loaded for a delivery about an hour away. I imagine he fell asleep.

The drivers didn’t notice the toddler. They finished loading the truck and left.

Because there was no child following him around, my dad forgot he had him. And until my dad came home without him, no one knew my son was missing.

Somewhere along the drive, the drivers realized there was a child in the back of the truck. They didn’t know who he was or how he got there—but instead of calling 911 or turning around, they stopped and bought him a Happy Meal.

My brother was already on his way to meet the drivers and help unload the truck when he found them—with his nephew.

He was confused.

“Why do you have my nephew?”

They said, “We don’t know. He was in the back of the truck.”

My brother pointed out that you can’t transport a child without a car seat. Then he called me to say he had my son and would drop him off in an hour.

Because we didn’t know my son was missing until shortly before he was found, we only lived inside that terror for about twenty minutes.

Dementia aside, my dad would never knowingly harm a grandchild.

He was told he had taken his grandson.He knew he had left him somewhere.He had no memory of doing it.

And he was deeply traumatized.

After that day, my father never drove again.

And we still didn’t talk about Alzheimer’s.

But that day, the disease spoke for itself.

And no one ever had to tell my dad to stop driving—he just did.