out and watched the fog creep over the ridge. But the sun shining brightly from the east was warming the valley below and the fog vanished before my eyes, keeping the historical hamlet below in clear sight. Each time I watched the fog slowly creep over the ridge, a white, billowy duvet being laid over the town, I knew the town would be hidden beneath it. Yet, each time, the dense cover turned slowly to a misty apparition and then disappeared, clarity preserved, again and again with each new wave.
When Alois Alzheimer’s disease came to Dr. Louise Moseley, the fog in her mind would roll in and then be blinked away. Unlike the gap at Cumberland, there was not enough warmth in the valleys of her mind and the fog finally settled in. For just over 10 years now she lays on her bed or chair, eyes closed, hands passing in front of her face occasionally as if there is something to be brushed away. If I place my hand in hers, she initially seems to reject the touch and then as if her fingers are recognizing an old friend, she clenches tightly. She utters sounds, as if attempting to sing, while raising her head slightly. When finished, her head returns back to her pillow and she sighs, seemingly spent by the effort.
It is an annual pilgrimage. Dr. Suzzane Wills finds he way to her friend of over 50 years. Once, the primary caregiver when the fog began rolling in, now, the steadfast and loyal companion who makes sure she is not alone on her birthday. Once, the colleague who helped develop programs for children with special needs, now, the one who raises the spoon of pureed food to her friend’s mouth. It’s a pilgrimage of 850 miles now, Grand Rapids MI to Gaffney, SC. It is a long way to go to clean turnip from your friend’s chin with the edge of a spoon, but she does so, faithfully, year after year.
We come with her, Harriet and I, superficially to keep her company, but really to bear witness to the power of pure love and devotion. The trips have evolved into epic adventures the likes of which Lewis and Clark would envy, (or maybe Abbott and Costello). It is the senior citizen version of Thelma and Louise, with me along for the ride. The 14-hour ride usually begins with catching up conversation, to current events, state of the union stuff and an audio book. (Last year, Unbroken, this year, Miracle on the 17th Green). Harriet and I share the driving, while Suzzanne snoozes in the back. When she is awake she is Harriet’s driving instructor or the watchful phone police when I have the wheel. (She pokes Harriet in the shoulder from behind if she sees me reach for my phone to attend to a text chirp).
We search for diversions to the highway monotony by unscheduled sojourns to random destinations. One year it was the Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington. Another time, an afternoon baseball game at the Great American Ballpark. This time, as we took Harriet’s “shortcut” on 25e at the Corbin exit, I-75s, to drive through Cumberland Gap. We entered the tunnel at the north end of the gap, engulfed in a dense fog and we exited at the south end into blue sky and brilliant sunshine. A contrast so severe, it made my eyes hurt. As I looked back over my shoulder, I saw this great wall of fog that suddenly ended at the ridge crest. It was an amazing sight. “WOW”, I said, in a voice befitting the splendor of the moment.
Harriet spotted Pinnacle overlook point in the brilliant sunshine that appeared to be at the very edge of the bank of fog.
“We can turn around and drive up to that lookout point, if you like”, she said in a singsong voice usually reserved for newly appointed kindergarten teachers, but one that she uses regularly.
“How long will it take to get up there?” I ask in typical, men-want-to-get-where-they-are-going voice.
“10, maybe 20 minutes”, she sings.
Directional on, U-turn maneuvered and up to 2000 feet above sea level…that is just the way things go with Thelma, Louise and me.
Now, I have been a lot of places. Stockholm, Great Barrier Reef, Grand Canyon, the Alps, Pebble Beach and Paterson, NJ, just to name a few. But if you are ever anywhere near Cumberland Gap National Park, then you need to take the drive, or hike for that matter, to Pinnacle Lookout. Trust me on this one. It is as unique a vista as you can see in this part of the world, (and a place where 3 states converge, KY, TN and VA). Especially if, when you drive through the tunnel at the Gap, you look back and see a great wall of fog looming behind you as you bask in glorious sunshine. If that happens, then, make haste or get your ass up there as quickly as you can.
So it goes. Spontaneous adventure, sprinkled with serious conversation and sincere belly-laughs, combined with classic, roadside recreational eating, are all part of the equation on a trip to see Louise. I think she would approve. As a matter of fact, I know she would.
Yet, after 10 years of being a part of this pilgrimage, I still get a sick feeling in my stomach as I watch this scene. This time it is August 12, 2012, (Louise’s 87th birthday) and I watch 84-year old Suzzane grab the steel rail attached to the concrete ramp that leads up to the double, glass doors that leads into the Alzheimer’s wing at the Peachtree Centre. She enters by pushing the red button on the sidewall that opens the interior doors.
She asks at the nurse’s station in front of us, but, like me, her eyes always wander to the hallways on either side of the station and those down the wings. She scans past the ones lined in wheelchairs because she is no longer capable to maintain the upright position. The ones lying prone in the hospital beds, eyes open, but with blank stares cannot be her either. Her eyes rarely open anymore and never for more than a second or two. The random shouts can’t belong to Louise or the prolonged, spontaneous wailing, that’s not her style. Finally, under thin wisps of short, grey hair, a familiar face with eyes clenched closed with a hand reaching up to brush something away that is not there.
Suddenly, Suzzane is transformed from a snoozing senior to a doting parent. She walks quickly toward Louise moving faster than she has all day and greets her brilliant friend, always in the same way. She bends at the waist and steadies herself on the rail of the hospital chair/bed.
“LOU-eeeese”, she purrs in a voice she must have borrowed from Harriet.
“It’s Suzzane…eeee”. She brushes her cheek against Louise’s’ and Louise lips move and her mouth opens and I can hear sounds, but hear no words. Suzzane smiles, but it is wrapped in the sadness of the fog still holding in its place. It’s not important whose hand reaches for whose, but that they find each other in a strong grip.
The fog rolled over the ridge that helps form the Cumberland Gap. Yet, each time, the dense cover turned slowly to a misty apparition, and then disappeared, clarity preserved, over and over again.
+++Drs. Suzzane Wills and Louise Moseley are the co-founders of WITC (Women’s Intercollegiate Training Camps) the origin of Snowbird Softball. They are my friends and my adopted grandmothers.
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