Changing a lightbulb

Over the weekend I visited my mother, and on Sunday we went out to a concert at the philharmonic in the big city nearby. I always enjoy visiting my mom, and the concert was delightful. But just at the moment I'm feeling very thoughtful.

Saturday evening I went to turn on some lights in the living room. One lamp wouldn't light up, and I saw right away it was unplugged.

"Why is this lamp unplugged?" 

I forget what she said. It was something about Son 2 visiting during the weekend before, which indeed he had. Whatever she said didn't make a lot of sense, so I was only half paying attention.

I tried plugging it in, but the light still wouldn't illuminate. The socket was controlled by a switch, but I checked the other light plugged into the same socket and it was on; therefore the switch was turned on. 

"I wonder if the bulb is burned out. Do you have any other bulbs?"

While I asked the question I was unscrewing the bulb, so that I could tell her exactly what it was. She said all the spare bulbs were in the garage, and led the way out there. When she got to this shelf here, there was a big box on it; inside the box were smaller cardboard containers with many, many different light bulbs.

"OK, if you can find one we need this brand, and 100W. No, not that one, because that's 40W. Reach behind it. No, that's 75W, but just to the left. There we go: that's 100W. Let's try it."

It worked. The lamp illuminated just fine. I replaced the lampshade, tossed the old lightbulb in the trash, and everything was fine.

Well, strictly speaking we also talked about another ceiling fixture that isn't working, because the switch is loose. That living room is often darker than it needs to be.

Fast forward 24 hours.

We've gotten back from the concert (which was lovely, by the way). We are sitting around chatting about projects that she needs done around the house, and she mentions attending to "that lamp that won't work."

I ask, "Which lamp?"

She clarifies, "You know, the one in the corner of the living room. You pointed out yesterday that it doesn't work."

"That one in that corner over there?" I point behind her. She does not turn around to follow my finger, but she has lived in this house for almost 50 years so of course she knows the layout intimately. So she knows I am pointing at the one she meant.

"Yes, exactly. You figured out that it didn't just need a new bulb, but there's something wrong with the wiring in it. We should get it fixed."

I pause. This rattles me a little.

Then I tell her, "You remember that we replaced the bulb in that light. We went out to the garage and rummaged through a box full of light bulbs until we found the right one. I put the new bulb in, and it worked fine. In fact, that light is on right now."

"Oh. Really? I thought that was a different one …?"

The conversation ended there. But I'm really kind of rattled. This is the first time that I have seen Mother's memory fail her on something concrete that she did, and (what's more) that she did yesterday! This is not a case of disagreeing what color dress someone wore thirty years ago, or of not remembering a story someone told her that she might not even have been listening to. She was there. She was directly involved.

And she didn't remember it, or at any rate not really.

Mother still has a professional career. Other people trust her to get their financial details right when there are subtle issues at stake. She still lives by herself.

This seems like a really simple, really trivial thing. So I don't know how seriously to take it. But I also fear that by the time you notice memory problems, they may have been in place for a while.

I really don't know how much to worry, but it has left me very thoughtful.