“A Trip Down Memory Lane (and Detours) in the Aisles of Walmart” by our Publisher Betsy O’Leary
Taking my mom shopping at Walmart for "a few things" seemed simple enough when we planned it. But as with many things in life, what started as a straightforward errand turned into a layered experience—one filled with nostalgia, moments of connection, and, I’ll admit, a fair share of frustration.
Mom lives in assisted living now, where all her meals are prepared for her. She doesn’t cook anymore, but the moment we entered the produce section, it was clear how much she missed it. She wandered through the brightly lit aisles, picking up peppers and leafy greens, remembering the stir-fries she used to make. Her face softened as she reminisced about days spent chopping and stirring in her kitchen. I felt a pang of sadness, knowing how much those routines had meant to her.
Then came the frozen pizza. “I could make this,” she said confidently, holding the box like a prized treasure. I had to remind her gently—again—that she doesn’t have an oven in her room. “Oh, right,” she said with a wry smile, putting it back. But as she turned away, she added, “Pizza gives me heartburn anyway,” with a light laugh.
While many of these moments felt warm and touching, others were draining. For every story that brought a smile, there were several moments of redirection, reminders, and patience-testing detours. She’d pick up items we didn’t need, insist on getting something she couldn’t use, or fixate on things from recipes she hadn’t cooked in decades. The best was picking up a cup of ramen noodles! Mom is supposed to be on a low sodium diet! And honestly? It was exhausting.
We’d get stuck in memories that weren’t always sweet. Some took us back to my childhood, where cooking wasn’t always a fun family activity—it was sometimes chaotic, rushed, or just another chore in a busy household. She’d recall burning dinner while trying to help me with homework or picking up Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket. These weren’t the rosy, cinematic memories you’d expect, but they were real.
There were times I found myself biting my tongue, frustrated that the trip was dragging on and not going as planned. I’d have to gently steer her away from piling our cart with items she didn’t need or couldn’t use.
And let’s be honest—shopping in a crowded Walmart on any day can be overwhelming, let alone when you’re balancing your own emotions with the needs of a parent who’s longing for a piece of their past.
But even through the frustration, I realized something important: this wasn’t just about groceries. The trip was her way of connecting with a part of herself she doesn’t get to express anymore. It wasn’t just shopping; it was reminiscing, processing, and sharing.
When we finally made it to the checkout, I felt drained. But as we sat in the car, bags in the trunk and her stories still fresh in my mind, I realized how meaningful the trip had been. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it mattered.
Sometimes, these moments with aging parents aren’t easy. They’re a mix of joy, fatigue, love, and, yes, frustration. But they’re also reminders to slow down, meet them where they are, and find grace in the in-between moments.
The groceries we left with weren’t just items on a list. They were touchstones for memories, a bridge between then and now. And for that, I’m grateful—exhausted, but grateful.