With degrees in physics and chemistry, Andy Betz has tutored and taught in excess of 30 years. His novel, short stories, and poems are works still defining his style. He lives in 1974, has been married for 26 years, and collects occupations (the current tally is 96).
This Should Never Happen
It is Saturday and on Saturdays, I go to see Karen. Today is her 67th birthday. I am bringing her favorite desert (red velvet cupcake), but no candles. The home Karen lives in does not permit any fire source (safety issues).
Karen began slipping away from me when she turned 62. Her doctor says her Alzheimer’s is progressing rapidly and her time is short. I will have to schedule as many days as I can between now and her final day to make the most of the time we have together.
Sometimes I bring the grandkids with me. It was easier when they were little and she still remembered details about each of their lives. However, as they grew, they noticed their grandmother making mistakes. At first, it was simple things. She mixed up the names of the boys. She forgot about Lucy’s (her granddaughter) school play. They starting asking the embarrassing questions about Karen and then asked embarrassing questions in front of Karen.
I asked my brother and sister if they wanted to come see Karen. They told me this was solely my job. I know this sounds hurtful, but just like the grandkids, they also have their own life.
When I am with Karen, I take my time to make sure she is comfortable. I have heard horror stories about these types of homes. Years ago, I worked for the state as an inspector. I no longer have any authority, but I still am keenly aware of the details that will make her remaining days as comfortable as possible.
Karen talks with me, not with a parent-to-child bond, but more of a friend-to-friend ease that only time can cement. I may have to reintroduce myself each time I come to visit, but her eyes sparkle when she realizes I am someone who cares.
If only those eyes would sparkle if she could recognize me.
That was unfair of me to even utter that.
I have no right to make even the slightest demands upon her. She didn’t ask for her lot in life. She didn’t do anything wrong to deserve this decay. My Karen deserves so much more than what life has offered.
The orderly pokes his head in to give me the two minute warning. Visiting hours go by so fast. I tell Karen I will return again next Saturday morning. She just smiles the smile I always remembered her having. Her smile is the same smile her mother had when we met 68 years ago.
Karen doesn’t remember that story of how her mother and I first met.
So, I will remember it for the both of us.