by David D. Horowitz.
“David, I need to know what time it is!”
“Mom, it’s four a.m. I was asleep before you called!”
“Four a.m.? Are you sure? Aren’t you supposed to be here now?”
“Yes, it’s four a.m. I will visit you today at seven p.m. Seven P.M.!”
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Oh, what’s wrong with me!”
I sighed. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be over later today. You’re confused because it’s dark. You probably think it’s late in the day, but it’s before dawn.”
“Today’s the tenth?”
“Yes, but before dawn. I’ll visit in about fifteen hours. Okay?”
“Okay, I think so. All right. I understand, I think. Oh, I’m so confused!”
“The a.m. hours are the first twelve in the day, and the p.m. hours are the last twelve. Do you understand that much?”
“Yes, but why does the clock on my phone sometimes say eighteen or twenty o’clock? I’m so confused!”
“Your cell phone represents time without a.m. and p.m., so ‘eighteen o’clock’ is the equivalent of six p.m. When looking at your phone’s clock after noon, subtract twelve hours to determine the ‘p.m.’ time. I’ve explained this before. Regardless, I’ll visit tonight at about 7 p.m. Okay?”
“Okay. One other thing: when did Winston Churchill die? 1941?”
“No, he died in 1965, Mom.”
“Really. How could I be so stupid!? What’s happening to me?”
“Mom, I need to sleep and…”
“Sure, go back to sleep.”
“I’ll see you later today, Mom, at about 7 p.m. I won’t forget.”
“Okay, my little darling. 7 p.m. One other thing: they’re fiddling with my cell phone clock.”
Again I sigh. “Mom, you’ve lived at that assisted living home for over five years. I’ve checked your clock often. No one’s fiddling with your cell phone. It’s fine. Trust me. I’ll check it tonight, okay? For now, it should be fine.”
“Okay. You I trust.”
“Okay, Mom. See you at 7 p.m.”
“See you at 7 p.m. Bye-bye.”
My mother cannot prevent Alzheimer’s Disease from damaging her memory and sense of time, but when she calls at crazy-early hours I struggle to maintain self-control. It’s not for nothing language commonly features phrases like “volcanic rage,” “quake with anger,” “wave of resentment,” and “roar like a lion.” Humans are of nature, and that entails the volatility we see in earth’s geology and wildlife. We humans, though, evolved in nature to live together, and so I cultivate my seed of empathy to yield patience. I work with one group of natural forces to balance a different group. Call it the golden mean; call it yin and yang. It all adds up to balance. Disease might reflect chemical imbalances, and rage might represent visceral frustration, but in nature we can learn to navigate a path past whirlpools, rocks, reefs, storms, volcanoes, illness—and our own rage. Daily I trust hunch and habit to help guide myself past dangerous eddies of temptation, temper, and torment. I rely on yoga; prayer; walks; consuming fruits, vegetables, juices, and whole grains; reading great books; writing; and conversing with friends—not downing martinis and Prozac. Working with one group of natural forces can help restrain a different, more destructive set of forces. Rain can help tame a wildfire.