“Yahtzee!!!” screamed my Dad with a shit-eating grin on his face. This game is like an Olympic sport to my parents but on steroids. So still an Olympic sport I guess…
They have enlarged, full letter-size printouts of the scoring cards, playing two games simultaneously, and adding two mulligans each–aka a do-over.
Now that I understand their rules, I can see why their “High Scores” list is unreachable. It’s written on the inside of the game box and records absurd scores that one can rarely reach playing by the official game rules. With that said, I want my name on that damn list. I’m competitive, can’t you tell?
It’s my Mom’s turn next and she does her signature quick roll, the dice barely leaving the table before being rapidly set back down.
“That is not legal!” I say as she ends her turn after one roll because she got a high-scoring full house.
She starts giggling to herself, knowing I’m right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s just how I roll,” she retorts.
“Don’t be a sore loser,” my Dad chimes in at her defense, again with a sly little smile.
In response, I say “She did not even shuffle the dice around in her hand and then just set them down on the table!” Before I can even finish my accusation, we are all roaring with laughter and my Mom has no intentions of defending herself further because she knows we are all just going to accept it.
“Your turn,” she sneaks in. “Let’s see you do better,” she taunts.
As I take my turn, I overemphasize the proper rolling technique which makes her chuckle even harder. She has the best laugh–a side-splitting, from the belly laugh where she is hunched over, red-faced with her eyes closed, gasping for air. The audible noise is delayed as she catches her breath and it comes several seconds later. Once she gets going, my Dad and I can’t stop either and before we know it, we all have tears rolling down our faces.
I try to collect myself but a snort like a pig pops out of me and the collective cackling ramps up again.
We start to settle and I continue my turn. Of course, I end up with a hodgepodge of numbers and end up having to take one of my mulligans. My Mom throws up her hands and gives me a look that says That’s just the luck of the dice and she starts snickering to herself.
We are all super competitive so my garbage turn is reflected in the joyous smiles coming from both of my parents because they know they are going to beat me. Normally, I would continue to protest but I am having too much fun to change the vibe of the evening.
We rarely get to spend nights like this together. Everyone is busy and life keeps chugging along.
My Dad takes his turn and shockingly has to use his mulligan also. “Karma got you quick!” I tease him.
He simply replies with “Scoreboard” which puts me immediately in my place. He points at my paper where I have several low scores in the top section and looks unlikely that I will get my bonus. I jokingly roll my eyes and put my hands up to convey Fair enough.
“Your turn sweetie,” he lovingly says to my Mom.
She picks up the dice swiftly and drops them on the table just as quickly. She already has three of the same number and is well on her way to another great score. Suspicious…
Before I can blink twice, all five of the dice are the same number and she screams “YAHTZEE!” Turning to my Dad, they high-five each other and do a silly winner’s dance to rub it in my face.
“Great job, Mom!” I concede. “It had nothing to do with your…unorthodox rolling strategy or anything,” I stated sarcastically.
“Sounds like someone is jealous,” she banters back.
My Dad and I mimic her roll style as she registers her score of fifty.
I am about to take my turn and I notice my Mom is stuck. She appears to be frozen with her pen in her hand, staring blankly at her scorecard.
“You okay honey?” My Dad asks.
She looks up at both of us with a puzzled expression on her face. She finally says, “I don’t know how to write a 5,” and then giggles to herself uncomfortably. She puts her pen down and picks it back up several times as we watch her silently.
The energy in the room is at a standstill and all humor has dissolved. She finally writes something down and turns it toward us so we can see. Instead of the number “5,” it is a backward “S” that is written down. You can tell she knows it is not completely correct but that is the best she can do right now.
“I can’t remember how to draw a 5,” she explains. “I can’t remember how to do it.”
“It’s okay sweetheart,” my Dad states attempting to comfort her. He puts his arm around her, trying to de-escalate the alarm that is rising in her voice.
I absently look at what she has drawn and don’t say anything at all. I can feel myself retreating inward and automatically swatting the rush of emotions back where they came from.
My Dad previously told me that she had been seeing a neurologist about some memory things but he downplayed it saying it was a routine specialist visit. I didn’t think anything of it even though she’d had a severe head trauma as a teenager. But she’s always been in and out of doctors’ offices ever since I can remember.
Seeing a glimpse of her memory issues up close and personal sends me into a spiral and it’s all I can do to stop the tears from flooding out. I can feel myself getting choked up but instead, I put all of my energy into swallowing it back and pushing it out of my mind. I can almost feel myself detaching at that moment.
This is not my Mom. This is not happening to her. This is someone else. A stranger.
I chant this to myself over and over until I can speak again. “What’s going on Mom?” I ask and immediately know it is the wrong question.
My Dad shoots me a look and my Mom stares back and says “I have no idea.”
She continues to chuckle to herself awkwardly. This has always been her coping mechanism when she gets uncomfortable or nervous: she just giggles. This is the first time I see the fear in her eyes though. She has no clue what is happening in her brain and it scares her. It scares me too.
This is not my Mom. This is not happening to her. This is someone else. A stranger.
“It’s okay honey, you are just having a brain fart,” jokes my Dad. He rubs her shoulders to physically soothe her as well. She appears to relax slightly, her shoulders lower slowly.
“Yeah, I’m just having a lapse,” trying to convince herself. “I was so excited about getting another Yahtzee that I forgot how to track my score.” She is laughing again at this point as she switches back to light, competitive digs.
I smile back but it doesn’t reach my eyes. I am shaken and doing everything I can to hide it. Looking over to my Dad, he seems to be keeping it moving along with my Mom. Nothing to see here! They obviously have more practice at this and makes me wonder how long has this been happening. I pocket those thoughts for later.
The rest of the game feels off but no one acknowledges it and we all pretend everything is fine.
My Mom ends up winning the game with a massive score and she gets to add it to their hall of fame list inside the Yahtzee box, though, it doesn’t seem as exciting as it did earlier.
Inside, I can feel my tether loosening, about to drift out to sea, overcome by the expanse of my emotions. At the edge of my mind, a dread peeks in trying to come into focus but I’m not capable of staring directly at it. I’m not ready yet.
As soon as it is reasonable to leave without it being weird, I make my exit. Walking to my car, a sob escapes but I stifle it, I need to keep the mask on still. I turn and wave to my parents standing in the doorway, hoping the emotion doesn’t register in the dark.
Once out of view, I break down, and all the suppressed feelings come rushing out, a dam has been ruptured. It happens so abruptly that it’s disorienting and I have to pull over on the next street. My vision becomes blurry with tears and I hear screaming nearby and it takes me a minute to realize it’s coming from me.
Another wail rips through my throat and is quickly silenced, replaced by breathy chokes, struggling to catch my breath.
I sit in my car on the side of the road until the calm returns, until I’m back in control. Deep down I’m aware our lives are about to drastically change but I choose to sweep it under the rug. It’s easier that way. If I hide it, even from myself, then it doesn’t exist.
How easily we convince ourselves of an alternate reality, one where the signs aren’t real and ignorance is bliss. But dementia can’t be ignored and we’ll soon learn that lesson.
Dementia is a devastating disease, not only impacting the person living with dementia but also for their family and friends experiencing the loss of a living loved one. I hope to help raise awareness and show a glimpse of the dementia journey for the person and the family, although each journey is different.
September is World Alzheimer’s Month, aiming to raise awareness and destigmatize dementia. Learn more about Alzheimer’s and dementia at Alzheimer’s Disease International.
ooft this hit close to home. I was smiling along, then I was tearing up. this was so beautifully written 💕
Oh Tyler. To be taken from an enjoyable evening with your parents to this sudden and truly unwanted reality. I’m so sorry to know you experienced this.