Sometimes, the best way to handle a difficult situation is to do nothing but laugh.

I learned this the hard way when Nurse Holly telephoned at a little after seven Monday morning. As soon as she put my mother on the phone, I heard, “Sister, come get me. Hurry. I’ve been kidnapped!”

By seven forty-five, I arrived at Plantation Manor carrying a thermos of coffee. Mother was sitting in the hall in her wheelchair. “I brought our Monday morning coffee, Mom. Would you like a cup?”

“Oh, how did you find me, Sister?” She sounded frantic. “Did you hear what happened to me? It was that same old woman. She sneaked in here and lured me away.”

I wheeled her into her room and sat on the side of the bed. She was obviously nervous, so I said very calmly, “Is this the same one who kidnapped you last week?”

She glared at me as if I’d lost my mind. No answer.

I poured the coffee and slid Mother’s cup across the bedside tray toward her. “What did she lure you with?” I asked.

“I can’t remember,” she said, “but she took all my clothes. See?” She lifted her blouse. “I don’t even have on a bra. (She did). “That crazy old woman took it. Then she drove me to her house.”

“So,” I said slowly, “a woman came into your room last night, took all your clothes, then loaded you and the wheelchair into her car.”

“No, no! That’s not right,” she yelled. “Didn’t you hear me? We didn’t take the wheelchair.”

“Then how did you get to the car?” The tone of my voice betrayed the fact that my composure was slipping away.

“Well, I walked, of course. I don’t need that wheelchair. I only use it because they make me.”

I poured another cup of coffee, all the while nodding like some bobble head doll on the dashboard. I had no idea what to say. Then I realized that it didn’t matter. The event was solidly fixed in her mind. Nothing I could say would change it. So, I just waited and listened.

The nurse came in about that time.

“Oh, hey honey,” my mother cried. “Did you hear what happened to me?”

The three of us went over the story again.

The look on my mother’s face was dead serious. “You know, Sister, you just can’t predict what crazy folks will do,” she said midway through the story. “And you ought to see her house. It’s right next to a mall. She owns the whole kit and caboodle.”

Stifling the laughter was almost impossible now.

“And what happened next Mrs. Frawley?” Nurse Holly asked.

“That old bag locked the door and told me to sit there until she came back. It scared me to death.”

The nurse leaned down close to her. “So, how did you get away?”

“Simple,” she said. “I waited until she left, then I hauled my fat butt back here.”

“How, Mother? If you didn’t have your wheelchair, how did you get back?”

“I ran, of course.” A smile spread across her face. “I was pickin’ ‘em up and puttin’ ‘em down.”

Nurse Holly gave me a sheepish grin and shrugged. The look on her face assured me that she was as confused as I was.

For a moment, I couldn’t think of a word to say. My mother hadn’t taken more than a few steps in months, and now she insists that she ran? That she was kidnapped and ran away? I wanted logic. Unfortunately, there was none.

Suddenly, though, I had an idea. At the time, I thought it was a good one.

“Well, Mother,” I said, “do you think if we helped you out of your wheelchair, you could show us how you ran?”

She didn’t hesitate for a second. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m exhausted. I bet I ran ten miles. I’ll be sore all over tomorrow. It’s a good thing that angel showed up when he did.”

“You saw an angel?”

“Big fella, handsome, too,” my mother said in a whisper. “With a top hat and a cane. He used the cane to show me the direction to run. Just held it out in front of him like this.” She demonstrated how the angel had held out his arm using the arm that had not moved an inch in months.

“Mama, you moved your arm!”

“’Course I moved it. Why shouldn’t I?”

I smiled. “No reason. Does it hurt?”

My mother stared out the window and smiled.

“Mother, can you hear me? Does your arm hurt?”

She put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

“What’s out there?” I whispered.

“The big fella,” she said. “He says he fixed my arm and I don’t owe him a dime.”

Then, she started to chuckle, and I laughed right alongside her, grateful for the Grace and Mercy extended at that precious moment.