In the nursing home, she describes what she’s been up to: floating along the canals of Venice, wandering through the streets of Rome. “I know I’m not, but I think I am,” she tells my mother.
We know she’s there, but we think she’s here, in Maryland with us.
Nina Feinberg is a writer, photographer and distance runner. She lives in Brooklyn, NY and works in user experience design.
At the eye doctor, the receptionist asks, “Primary care doctor?”
Blankness. She has to look it up on her phone.
Later, picking up her prescriptions, the girl behind the counter says, “Phone number?”
Again, blankness.
If she were twenty-five, she’d laugh – just an off day.
She is seventy-five, and afraid.
Jennifer L Freed is author of When Light Shifts, inspired by the aftermath of her mother’s cerebral hemorrhage. In the 2025 Eric Hoffer Awards, the book was a finalist for the Medal Provocateur, won second place in the Legacy Non-fiction category, and was short-listed for the grand prize. Please visit jfreed.weebly.com to learn more.
It’s a skill I have, unlike most people. Take Sayers yesterday. Didn’t know me, or even his own name, poor old thing. Insisted he was called Phillips. Sad when people lose it like that. The staff aren’t much better. They’ve put the wrong name on the door of my room.
Chris Cottom lives near Macclesfield, UK. One of his stories was read aloud on the Esk Valley Railway between Middlesborough and Whitby. In the early 1970s he lived next door to JRR Tolkien. chriscottom.wixsite.com/chriscottom
“I love my…. Never mind.”
“Mom, tell me.”
“I can’t remember what it’s called.”
“Point to it and I’ll give you the word.”
“Why don’t you get mad at me like your father does?”
Dad died fifteen years ago. “Died” is not a word I’m going to give her today.
Sharon Gerger lives with three older rescue cats, Edith, Walter and Lucy, her newest family member is the crankiest cat ever but her heart is slowly defrosting and I think she might learn to tolerate Sharon someday.
I met an angry man today. “I’ve had it up to here with you!” he said. “Take your pills!”
I met a sad man today. “Please try to remember,” he said. “Please.”
I met a friendly man today. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said. “I love you. The memories don’t matter.”
Nico Calvanico is a native New Yorker and a student at The New School. After studying performing arts for his entire life, he has decided to pursue something far more lucrative: creative writing.
I buried myself in my Flash comic, pretending to be unaffected by Grandpa’s inability to remember me.
Pointing to the cover, Dad whispered, “Remember when your hero got trapped in the Speed Force, and he started experiencing time out of order?”
I nodded.
“My hero’s going through the same thing.”
David Dezell Turner is an astrodynamics PhD student at the University of Colorado Boulder. When he isn’t giving directions to real spaceships, he’s writing about fictional ones. Check out more of his work at daviddezellturner.com.
It began with her putting the kettle in the fridge and calling everybody “darling.” When she bought a white sports convertible and went shopping in her underwear, her daughters put her away. In her garage, they found her collection: No Stopping. No U-turn. Steep Descent. All the signs were there.
Doug Jacquier writes from the Fleurieu Peninsula in South Australia. His work has been published in Australia, the US, the UK, Canada, New Zealand and India. He blogs at Six Crooked Highways.
She would get a cup of water,
place her finger on the curved edge of the lamp
water the garden painted on the side.
Alzheimer’s stole her mind
but not the loving care of the flowers
she’s remembered to water.
We remove the lamp,
bring her roses,
see her smile.
Cheryl Somers Aubin has an MA/Writing from Johns Hopkins University. She is the former nonfiction editor for the Literary Journal Delmarva Review. Cheryl teaches memoir writing and is a featured speaker at writing conferences and workshops. She is the author of The Survivor Tree: Inspired by a True Story, which is available at the National September 11 Memorial and Museum and online. Www.thesurvivortree.com
Gray skies this morning.
Darlene abed.
Make her tea.
See she’s comfortable.
Tells me to quit my bothering. Calls me James.
Rain’s holding off.
Afternoon, split wood.
James?
Chop.
James.
Chop.
Dinner. Potato soup, chives.
Wipe the soup dribbling down her chin.
Won’t talk to me. Leastways, not to James.
Tim Boiteau lives in Michigan, is the author of the dark fantasy novel The Drummer Girl, and a Writers of the Future winner. See more at timboiteau.com.
She was over two hours late getting home.
Once again, roads that looked familiar had suddenly turned into a mysterious blur of unknown scenery and unrecognizable houses.
Now, finally, on the street where she lived, she ran through excuses.
Did she work late?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
She simply couldn’t remember.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and cartoon captioning contests.