A Silent Conversation

When all the words are gone

Pam Saraga
Rainbow Salad

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AI image from 123RF image generator

Nightmares we live.

She looked at his old face as he lay in the bed, their bed. Her hands went over to tuck the covers around his shoulders so he wouldn’t get cold. This bedroom had known them for fifty years. She was going to paint the room before the diagnosis. Dementia. Why not just say sorry you will melt away until you no longer exist? Like an iceberg melting as it moves into warmer waters. Every part of you that defines you, will be systematically stripped away until the end. Losing you is hard, my love, but losing you bit by bit is the worst type of horror imaginable.

His eyes popped open, and he looked at her and smiled. The same smile she remembered. The same smile that she remembered from the first day. He looked on, there were no more words left to speak.

He had lost that ability months ago. But he still had that smile. And the kind, blue eyes. Somethings fade with old age, like a man’s hair, his sense of humor but usually not everything. It's like a robber had come into his brain and plucked out random pieces of his personality. Identity theft on an internal organ. Let’s take some reasoning here and a little memory there. Why not cut some chunks out of his sense of balance and leave him not knowing where he is? How can he be here and not be here?

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Pam Saraga
Rainbow Salad

Old enough to see the issue & young enough to try and fix the problem.