Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I parked beside his old pickup, and by the time I got out, Dad was already off the tractor and walking toward me. He used the back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow as he said, “Morning.”
“Hey, Dad.” The exhaustion in his eyes made my chest tighten. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going.”
“Doesn’t sound that way.”
“Your mom’s had a rough morning.”
His words hit like cold water. Mom’s memory wasn’t what it used to be, and there were days when she didn’t know where she was or even who she was, much less who we were.
I hated it. Alzheimer's had stolen my mother. It had stolen her memory, her judgment, and even her will to fight, leaving her a shell of the woman she used to be. It hurt me to see her this way, but it didn’t compare to how it had affected my father, the one who stayed with her day in and day out.
He sounded utterly defeated as he told me, “She woke up early and was real confused. Couldn’t remember where the bathroom was and kept asking for her mother… thinking that she was still a girl, living back with her folks in their old house on Maple.”
“Oh, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It took me a while to calm her down, but I did.” He forced a smile as he told me, “Got her looking back on some of our old memory books.”
“She’s getting worse, Dad.”
“Yeah, it’s happening faster than I thought, but we’re making it okay.”
Dad wasn’t ready to admit that he needed help. I didn’t want to admit it either, but we both knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time before we would have to consider bringing in help or placing her into a nursing home, which neither of us wanted to do. But it was a reality we had to face. “We’re going to have to start talking about our next move.”
“We’re not there yet.”
“But we’re getting closer,” I pushed. “We have to do what we can to make sure Mom’s safe. That’s what matters most.”
“I’m not ready.”
“I’m not either. I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but it’s not about us and what we’re ready for.”
“I know. I know.”
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight as I said, “I’m sorry. I know this is hard on you.”
“It’s hard on you, too, kiddo.” He hugged me for a moment, then asked, “You going inside to see her?”
“If that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay.” He gave me a warm smile. “She’ll be glad to see you.”
I nodded, then started up the front porch. Each step was heavier than the last. I tried to brace myself for whatever I’d find inside, but there was no way to prepare for losing the one person who knew you better than anyone. I stepped inside and was met immediately by the familiar scent of lemon cleaner and old wood. It should’ve been comforting, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.
Mom used to take such pride in her home. She could spot a crooked picture frame across the room and would rush to fix it before anyone noticed. Every magazine had its place, every blanket was folded just right, and God help the person who put a cup on one of her tables without a coaster.
Now, every room was cluttered with furniture and knick-knacks that seemed to appear out of thin air. Chairs were in odd places, and picture frames were stacked in the corner. It was like I was trying to walk through a maze made of memories that my mother couldn’t hold onto anymore, and that made me sad.
I weaved around her old recliner and overflowing baskets of trinkets and made my way into the kitchen. I found my mother sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in one hand and a photo album in the other. I watched her brows furrow as she turned the page and studied the images. My heart squeezed at the sight.
I poured myself a cup of coffee before joining her at the table. “Morning, Mama.”
For a long, breathless moment, she just stared at me. Her eyes skirted over me, slow and steady, like she was trying to remember, and I prayed desperately that she did. I needed my mother today, even if it was just for a brief moment. Eventually, she smiled and said, “You have to see these pictures I found… They’re from a few summers ago when we took Rae and the kids to the lake.”
My chest tightened. It hurt that her mind wouldn’t let her recognize me today, but I found comfort in knowing that some of her memories were there. She knew I existed, and the boys too, so I took that as positive.
“Sounds like a fun trip,” I replied, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.