She could feel it at the very edges of her fingertips. If she reached a little more, just a little, she could grab it. She summoned the last of her strength and energy.
But it was gone.
Her doctor explained to her husband that Alzheimers is a slow degenerative disease.
Lee Otto lives in Australia with her husband, two children, and plethora of cats. At 60, after a life spent as a technical writer, she decided to find out what fiction writing is all about and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts majoring in fiction writing. This is her first attempt at having anything fictional published.
The old woman gazed at the teddy bear, the toy goose, and the heart-shaped pillow. “Isn’t it nice that I have my family here with me?” she said.
“I am your family, Mom,” said her son.
“Well these children are nice; you are not.”
He sighed and left the room.
Carrie Danielson grew up in the Colorado Rockies. Her first career was acting, but she later became an English teacher. Now retired, she has time to devote to writing. Carrie lives in Chula Vista, is married, has four children, and spends time with her four grandchildren, four dogs, and a parrot.
Some form of dementia has stolen her brilliant mind
But has kindly left her beautiful soul.
From a hospital bed finally she knows no limits.
All worries, self-doubts have vanished,
Layers of life’s woes stripped away.
Her eyes filled with love, she sings and is happy.
Her truest self, revealed?
Lisa Lysen is having fun exploring her passion for words, hoping an adventure in writing may be somewhere in her future.
Sarah meanders, swearing, in and out of the traffic.
The cars stop and the first driver steps into the pouring rain, her makeup running with her own tears as she struggles to cover up Sarah’s nakedness with a coat.
There is a dim light of recognition in her mother’s eyes.
Allyson Salmon has had three poems printed by United Press including one in their National Poetry Antology 2015. She is married with one grown up daughter.
I don’t interrupt; that would be rude.
She’s telling me the same story of nearly drowning that I’ve heard before. She’s determined to squeeze out every memory before it’s gone.
Like my mother’s boxed wine, her memories have slowly dripped out onto the floor, and she doesn’t even know it.
R. H. Palmer lives in Southern Illinois and spends her free time listening to old records and terrorizing her cats.
When my mom remembers, she refers to me by both my first and middle name, Carol Ann. When she forgets, she asks for her daughter.
Sometimes I forget what a great mom she had been. Sometimes I remember, and give her an extra long embrace before leaving the nursing home.
Debra Danz was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, and now resides in Switzerland with her two children. She is currently writing a book, which will be dedicated to her late husband and composed of short stories inspired by his photography. Debra participates in a club called The Writing Women of Zurich and contributes to their blog. One of Debra’s Short stories is forthcoming in The Bookends Review.
The time had come for growing old together. She welcomed it with no regret, foreseeing tranquil days of tales retold, of common memories.
But he has lost the early days they shared. He wanders without her in a shadowy past.
Alone she cares for him; alone he lives on unaware.
Catherine Mathews is a State Department retiree formerly stationed overseas in Paris, Rome, Tel Aviv, Athens, Frankfurt, and Istanbul. She is now living in Northern Virginia and writing about her life.
Rabbits jump around the green grass, soaking up warmth, delighting you. Daffodils are up; robins have returned. You survey this dazzling day with bright eyes.
Without warning, you retreat into your world. “When will it stop snowing?” you wonder out loud. “It’s so cold!”
The Alzheimer’s again… We miss you.
Deborah Davis is a former equities trader. She lives in Richland, Michigan, and enjoys fellowship and encouragement from her kindred spirits in the Richland Writers’ Circle.
Of course it was not a sensible thing to do. To switch or not to switch, that was the question.
Horatio’s successful twin brother suffered from dementia. Heartlessly watching his brother’s decay, Horatio wished he could be pampered, fed, lullabied and tucked in bed.
Just for a day. Or two.
Read more of Melanie Taylor’s writing at melanietaylorherrera.wordpress.com.
My grandmother called me by name today, but I’m not sure she knew it was me. I share my name with my mother. Margaret.
It doesn’t matter. I will be whoever she wants me to be.
Of course, my grandmother’s name is also Margaret.
Perhaps she was talking to herself.
Hall Jameson is a writer and fine art photographer who lives in Montana. Her work has recently appeared in “The Red Asylum”, “Redivider”, and “Eric’s Hysterics”. When she’s not writing or taking photographs, Hall enjoys playing the piano and cat wrangling.