My son and I had kind of a
weird, slightly uncomfortable experience yesterday afternoon.
After my son was done with work, I picked him up and we went to the local drug store, where my son does his own shopping.
This is an exercise we have done for at least the last 10 years. It is a way for him to learn about his money, the cost of things, and how to spend it, and it also gives him some independence, because he decides what he is going to buy for himself.
As a developmentally disabled person, he needs to know all of these things, and the best way for him to learn these things is to actually do them, and I think it has worked out fine.
Anyway, that is just the background of the story, but now I am gong to get to the crux of it.
We waited on line to pay for the things he wanted to buy, and when it was our turn, we went up to the register, loaded his items so the cashier could get to them, and were ready to pay for the items … and then we saw someone also waiting on line, and it was someone who had been very close to our family, and in particular, our son, before the pandemic.
The person on line behind us was my son’s therapist, or I should say former therapist, as he had not seen her since the beginning of the pandemic, since about March 2020 or so.
This woman—a widow who picked herself up after her doctor husband died and created a new life for herself as a therapist, with a wide practice—had been seeing my son for several years, one day a week for an hour at a time—and had helped him sort out his problems and help him with other matters.
I remember the day I had to call her and tell her we would not be seeing her anymore due to the emergence of the virus, and she basically told me, “Do what you have to do,” and that was that.
Fast forward to the present time, and we hadn’t seen her since until yesterday, waiting on the line after us.
As we paid our bill, I said to her and to my son, knowing that this was kind of a dicey situation, “Oh, look who it is. How are you doing?”
The woman looked up and said to me, “Are you speaking to me?”
I knew I was in trouble, and I said to her, “Yes, to you. Don’t you remember my son?”
I then proceeded to take down his mask, to show his full face to the woman.
“Was he my husband’s patient?” she asked, and I knew that the hole I had unwittingly dug for myself was getting deeper … and I had to find a way to escape.
“No, he was YOUR patient,” I said to her. “Don’t you remember?
I said my son’s name to her, and there was that blank stare on her face that told me that I was fighting a losing battle here, and I had to rectify things before the hole filled up with quicksand and my son and I would never get out of it.
“I don’t know who you are,” she said to me.
“OK,” I replied. “Don’t worry about it,” and the two of us got our purchases and hurried out of the store.
It was a real mind bender, and it was not the woman’s fault at all.
You see, at this point in time, having not seen us for more than a year and a half, we were really “out of sight, out of mind,” ... and not only that, but the woman, at this point, must be approaching her mid-90s.
Yes, after her husband died, she established a career for herself in her 70s, and now, she is in her mid-90s, and we were perhaps one of the last patients that she saw regularly.
It was kind of jarring, and kind of sad, that she did not know who we were, but I guess at that age, you are allowed to have real memory lapses.
I know my mother, at age 90, has reached that stage where she really needs to write everything down so that she remembers it, and I guess this woman is probably beyond that stage at this point.
And I guess a situation like this had to happen, because it put closure to our time with her, and it justified the decision not to use her anymore, even when the pandemic lightened up a bit.
My wife and I felt that out son—who had other people to talk to, people who served the same purpose as she did, albeit not in person, but over the phone—did not need to see her anymore, and my wife later told me that she heard that the woman had ended her practice anyway, whether because of the pandemic or due to her own health, we don’t know which one or if it was a combination of both.
So yesterday, it was kind of a sad moment for myself and my son, an awkward moment, a moment that was just a moment but seemed to last for many, many moments, not just one.
As I said to my wife and my son later on, the old saying “life goes on” certainly applies here, and life goes on for my son, and life goes on for this woman.
We wish her the best, even though she has no idea who we are.
Have a great weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday.
After my son was done with work, I picked him up and we went to the local drug store, where my son does his own shopping.
This is an exercise we have done for at least the last 10 years. It is a way for him to learn about his money, the cost of things, and how to spend it, and it also gives him some independence, because he decides what he is going to buy for himself.
As a developmentally disabled person, he needs to know all of these things, and the best way for him to learn these things is to actually do them, and I think it has worked out fine.
Anyway, that is just the background of the story, but now I am gong to get to the crux of it.
We waited on line to pay for the things he wanted to buy, and when it was our turn, we went up to the register, loaded his items so the cashier could get to them, and were ready to pay for the items … and then we saw someone also waiting on line, and it was someone who had been very close to our family, and in particular, our son, before the pandemic.
The person on line behind us was my son’s therapist, or I should say former therapist, as he had not seen her since the beginning of the pandemic, since about March 2020 or so.
This woman—a widow who picked herself up after her doctor husband died and created a new life for herself as a therapist, with a wide practice—had been seeing my son for several years, one day a week for an hour at a time—and had helped him sort out his problems and help him with other matters.
I remember the day I had to call her and tell her we would not be seeing her anymore due to the emergence of the virus, and she basically told me, “Do what you have to do,” and that was that.
Fast forward to the present time, and we hadn’t seen her since until yesterday, waiting on the line after us.
As we paid our bill, I said to her and to my son, knowing that this was kind of a dicey situation, “Oh, look who it is. How are you doing?”
The woman looked up and said to me, “Are you speaking to me?”
I knew I was in trouble, and I said to her, “Yes, to you. Don’t you remember my son?”
I then proceeded to take down his mask, to show his full face to the woman.
“Was he my husband’s patient?” she asked, and I knew that the hole I had unwittingly dug for myself was getting deeper … and I had to find a way to escape.
“No, he was YOUR patient,” I said to her. “Don’t you remember?
I said my son’s name to her, and there was that blank stare on her face that told me that I was fighting a losing battle here, and I had to rectify things before the hole filled up with quicksand and my son and I would never get out of it.
“I don’t know who you are,” she said to me.
“OK,” I replied. “Don’t worry about it,” and the two of us got our purchases and hurried out of the store.
It was a real mind bender, and it was not the woman’s fault at all.
You see, at this point in time, having not seen us for more than a year and a half, we were really “out of sight, out of mind,” ... and not only that, but the woman, at this point, must be approaching her mid-90s.
Yes, after her husband died, she established a career for herself in her 70s, and now, she is in her mid-90s, and we were perhaps one of the last patients that she saw regularly.
It was kind of jarring, and kind of sad, that she did not know who we were, but I guess at that age, you are allowed to have real memory lapses.
I know my mother, at age 90, has reached that stage where she really needs to write everything down so that she remembers it, and I guess this woman is probably beyond that stage at this point.
And I guess a situation like this had to happen, because it put closure to our time with her, and it justified the decision not to use her anymore, even when the pandemic lightened up a bit.
My wife and I felt that out son—who had other people to talk to, people who served the same purpose as she did, albeit not in person, but over the phone—did not need to see her anymore, and my wife later told me that she heard that the woman had ended her practice anyway, whether because of the pandemic or due to her own health, we don’t know which one or if it was a combination of both.
So yesterday, it was kind of a sad moment for myself and my son, an awkward moment, a moment that was just a moment but seemed to last for many, many moments, not just one.
As I said to my wife and my son later on, the old saying “life goes on” certainly applies here, and life goes on for my son, and life goes on for this woman.
We wish her the best, even though she has no idea who we are.
Have a great weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday.
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