𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧
Day 1 of finding out
about Alzheimer's disease
𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧

As I hear the words "Alzheimer's disease", the grains of dust delicately start crossing over the tips of my fingers. I expected to hear this kind of news in another 20 years, not at the age of 64.

Yet, there is the odd sense of comfort that comes with this feeling. It reminds me of the story about the grain of dust's ability to become a powerful, steady rock as time passes by. It's unfortunate that I was able to tell this to only a few groups of students before my retirement.

This is the exact moment where I decide that as long as I am this grain of dust, I'll do my best to stand against this situation as steady as the rocks against the waterfall.

With this state of mind, I finally relax my neck muscles a little. Even though the doctor still runs all of these necessary tests, I give myself permission to wonder as much as I can at the blank, large canvas that awaits me at home.

I make a promise to myself that I'll make a room that will be my mausoleum, the showcase of the echoes of yesterday, tomorrow and forever.

𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧
Day 43 of finding out
about Alzheimer's disease
𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧

The muffled ringtone and my weakened hearing love playing hide and seek. A mild curse escapes my mouth as I strain to find my lost phone in the Project room. Full, open boxes add to an overall chaotic experience.

"Hi, honey. What's new?" I ask with a hint of brightness as my lungs yearn for a few deep breaths to compensate for the frenzied search. "Sorry, I couldn't figure out where I put this damn phone. I swear, the cable ones were the best."

Sarah's tranquil laugh enters through the speaker. "Hi Dad, nothing much. I just have a few minutes between classes and I wanted to hear your voice."

I feel my cheeks become light pink and a warm smile shows up on my face. "I love hearing your voice too! And listen, if you need a good story, I found a few storybooks in the boxes. I think I still know how to take pictures."

"Smells like a new project in disguise. Something good is cooking." She states. "What are you working on?"

I'm trying to fight the slight turn of the rudder of my soul with the extra hint of excitement. "A big project for sure. I'm going through all of these boxes and putting my most cherished stuff in one room, dedicated to the best of the best. There are a bunch of our family photos - your mom's, brother's and ours. There's even one from your graduation."

The brief silence makes me think that Sarah figured out something's up, so I briefly add, "And these stories are waiting for you to get them whenever you're able to. I hope it's soon because I can't wait to see you."

"I will surely come soon, Dad." She reassures me. "But I have to go now. And I promise you, I have one of the best stories to use."

After I hang up, I keep going through the boxes, reminiscing down memory lane and scribbling a few handwritten notes, as a reminder for the things that skip a few beats before I register them.

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Day 115 of finding out
about Alzheimer's disease
𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧

The bags full of stuff land on the floor with a loud sound. A few balls of wool roll to the desk filled with framed photos - the central one is mine from my first day of teaching. I look at myself and see the glimpse of fear yet I was still proud of who I became. But, there's also the reflection of this man I am now, with exhausted eyes that still harbors hope.

I love to pretend that my disease is a planned gang's planned game that can only be beaten with their own weapon. That's why for the last few days I have been sneaking into my son's room to borrow every detective book I could find. Even if I can't rely on my memory as I used to all my life, I still can rely on logic, my love, and my determination. I'll use whatever I can to win.

After I remove everything I don't need from the desk at the moment, I clean up scraps of paper and put a cork board in the center. I slowly start picking photos from different albums, adding more reminders on sticky notes, and connecting them with different colors of wool, each one indicating possible connections that will ignite my memory the next time I see them.

While one picture is giving me a really hard time, I finally hear my son shouting my name. "Dad, do you hear me? Where are you?" Then, a brief pause before he starts again. "Henry!"

It takes me time to answer back loud enough, but with the words — "I'm up here!" — I feel my heart speed up. Martin came home earlier than expected. Having him here is such a pleasure.

"Dad, you forgot to lock the door." Martin states once he is in front of me. I automatically open my hands to greet him and after a few seconds, he responds to the offer.

"Oh, I've been shopping for some stuff and I must have forgotten to lock it once I got home." The muscles around my mouth fight to stay in position as I attempt to force a smile. The Project Room suddenly became suffocating, so I stand up to let my son sit on my chair. "Please, my dear boy, sit here. Do you want something to drink?"

He accepts.

After giving my son some fresh-squeezed juice, I run my fingers through his hair, as I always do.

I feel invisible strings choking me, as he rests his hand on his hair where I touched him, a few seconds longer than usual. He blinks a few times before speaking. "This room is... hmm... it seems fuller now. What's this on your table?"

"Agh, that..." There's the signal sending my head to full alert mode. "This is just a temporary solution for the lack of space. This project is definitely bigger than I originally planned it to be."

"I see." As he goes through all of the pictures, I glance behind him, trying to remember anything important he might say. There are a few blurry personas that don't quite reach my mind, but from all of these photos, I gahert that they're important.

"God, Dad, soon you'll make a crime scene here." A puff of laughter escapes his mouth, yet his voice isn't quite reassuring.

"Your cousin Liam asked me to do it. He needs it for school." I blurt out, not quite sure why I did it. I'm sure panic is visible on my face. I feel like part of me strongly fights to find a way out of this.

Martin raises an eyebrow. "Why would Liam ask you to do that?"

"Why would you even ask me that?" My voice alters and cuts like a knife. "Okay, I lied, I admit. I took your detective books and didn't ask your permission. I was desperate for the new system of organizing my stuff for this project... And now I'll put it back."

As the guilt starts to melt away, I realize there's water on Martin's shirt. "And while I'm there, I'll bring you something to change. Sitting in wet clothes will get you sick. Just make sure that you wait for me in another room, the Project room can be really cold in this time of a day."

It takes some time before I come back to the living room where Martin said he'll wait for me and I hand him his clothes. His hand stays frozen in the air and his gaze shifts from the clothes to me and back to the clothes.

"Dad, is everything okay? I stopped wearing this while mom was still alive. I can't pull this off even if I tried, it's too small for me." Worry distorts his face.

I slowly nod and utter the first thing I think of. Another lie, because I can't bring myself to tell the truth. "I didn't sleep well last night, I was too immersed in those books of yours. I should remember I'm not that young anymore, and neither are you. Oh, my boy, time flies by."

I force a yawn and Martin gets the hint. Soon enough, he leaves, and I am kept awake thinking of what I have done. Tonight I really won't get much sleep, after all.

𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧
Day 130 finding out
about Alzheimer's disease
𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧

There are some persistent people on my porch, hitting my doorbell. It seems like they're not going to go away until I open the door, so there's no reason to play dead anymore.

I march down the stairs and swiftly open the door to find my two children, sweating in front of me. My daughter hugs me immediately and it takes a second before I hug her back.

"Oh, Dad, you're okay."

"Yes, I'm fine, I just happened to be tidying the project room." I yawn. "Yet you came at the right time. I needed to take a break anyway."

Trying to find the missing puzzle pieces gets harder and harder every day. It's like my head is going into overdrive even though there aren't any files open.

I push both of them to the dining room and make them eat a full meal before my son finally speaks his first words since arriving. "Dad, sit. We need to talk."

My heart starts sinking. "O-okay. Let's talk."

"Dad, you're not feeling well." His tone is precise like a soldier.

Sarah interjects immediately, trying to soften her brother's harsh tone. "We want to talk to you. It seems like you need some help since Mom died."

"No, no, darlings. I'm fine." I try to assure them. "My head is just in the clouds. It takes a lot of time to build this project."

"Then don't do it." Martin says.

Sarah shoots a glance at Martin, but I can see that she agrees because she says, "Dad, this project isn't worth it if you're going to go crazy because of it."

"It's not that simple." My hands are in the air like I'm proving my innocence. "But it's worth it, I promise."

"Dad, should I remind you that you gave me my t-shirt from almost seven years ago? And Sarah tells me other unusual stories too. Please, don't make this harder than it really is."

"If you need some help with all of this stuff, we're here for you. You don't have to go through Mom's passing alone."

That's when my heart shatters into a million pieces. Not telling them about Alzheimer's disease is one thing, but making them believe this is because of Miriam is a crime.

I feel Sarah's hands on my shoulder as she leans in for a hug. "Dad, it's okay. We'll get through this. Don't cry. If you cry, I'll cry too."

And, really, her eyes are threatening to push her tears onto her cheeks.

There's a hole in my heart and I feel like falling down. "It's not about Miriam. It's... I have... Alzheimer's disease."

For a split second, the room is dead silent, only my heart is ticking. And, at the next moment, an explosion happens...

"What did you just say?!" Sarah raises her voice in a familiar way. I look at her eyes just for a second and I can see that behind the thunder, rain patiently waits for its turn.

Martin, on the other hand, seems like he is holding his cool. Yet, there is the flinch of his fingers, the same as his mother had, showing me that inside his brain is akin to a flowing stream of thoughts.

His voice is almost automatic, like he switched to the doctor's role while saying to me that I endangered my own sanity by withholding this information.

Yet, I can see from his small movement there are two personas fighting inside one body. My son struggles as he speaks. "Dad, how... why did you even think to spare us from this vital information? Sarah and I, we would arrange everything... find you a good doctor... help with buying medicine... Help you out."

I shake my head. "No, I refused medicine. I just need to become the rock and I'll beat this. I have to."

Martin frowns. "This isn't something you can battle with strong will, Dad. It's silly to even think that."

The large sob threatened to escape, but I had to stay strong. My will should stay in place like rocks does. "Martin, I won't take medicine. They killed your mother."

Yet, for a split second, I remember that rocks eventually turn to dust again if the water stream is too strong for too long. I remember how Miriam turned to dust too, how I miss her every single day. After all, I am in this situation because of her. If she didn't leave me, I wouldn't start to forget things. If she didn't plan to die, she wouldn't schedule all my health appointments five years in advance.

And then everything I worked for collapsed and I am fully aware of how broken I have become without my wife. Loud sobs escape my body and the only thing I can do is lie down in the fetal position, trying to fit between all these boxes. My kids hold me as I fight all I have in me to tell them, "I already lost Miriam and it seems like I am also losing myself. This is the part I can accept."

My daughter holds me a little tighter like she fears I might become thin air and my son holds both of us closely. "But there's the thing: I can lose everything, but you... Oh God, not you... And this room is everything I am trying to do to not forget you, even if I forget myself."

"You never will lose us, Dad. I promise." Martin whispers and I know that he's trying not to cry.

𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧
Day 405 of finding out
about Alzheimer's disease
𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧

I hear the three voices near me. Their conversation seems important, even though I'm not quite sure if I should enter the discussion. The frowns on younger people's faces is the only thing that tells me something might go wrong, so I am staying here to help if the conflict arises. I swear, some teachers really think they can do whatever they please just because they have power over students.

"What do you mean that you refuse to give our father stronger therapy?! He needs it!" I jump a little from the male student's voice, even though I don't understand it fully. Poor kids. I want to hug them, like they are my own. They certainly look like how I imagined my kids will look alike.

"You must understand our decision, Dr. Thompson. You are a doctor too. The drug therapy in this phase of the disease may cause more side effects than help."

As I was looking at the student – Martin, I think? – it's clear his poker face starts to disappear. He looks like he's on the verge of explosion, ready to make a scene. "Don't Dr. Thompson me! We don't know how the patient... I mean, my father would respond to it. We never do."

That's when I stand up and go there even if I feel a little bit weak in my knees. I approach the man in a white coat and say to him "If you don't mind me interfering. I know these students aren't in my literature class, but they seem like they're really passionate about your class, which is a sign that you are a great teacher. I won't tell you what you should do, but I think we need to appreciate more passion in today's world and that what they're fighting for is worth giving them."

After I say these words, there was a short exchange of glances between the man in the white coat and the boy. I think they understood me and that I handled the situation well.

It turns out that I was right, because as we exit the building, these students thank me for sticking with them. The boy says to me, "The least we can do is drive you home."

"Both passionate and kind. I accept the offer." I say lightly, feeling unusual comfort with them by my side. "And in return, I offer you to take my literature classes. You might like short educational stories."

They become distant, which makes me think of what I could say to upset them. I make sure to add, "There's no pressure to do so, you don't owe me anything."

The girl that introduced herself as Sarah, talks very quietly, and her breathing is labored. I try to understand her when she says , "I'd like to hear some of your stories. I'm teaching a creative writing class and my father used to tell me his own stories. I have three full notebooks filled with them, but I could always use some more."

Huh... I thought she was a student, but I don't say anything in that regard, worrying that I'll upset her. She still seems shaken from the previous encounter.

The boy seems like he's good in following directions. Even though the drive is quite long, he is able to find the route to my home faster than me.

The girl looks at me with caring eyes and says, "Thank you for wanting to show me your projects."

"You're welcome, dear. And, hmm... Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I have a daughter and you really look like her. She and her brother are both graduating college this year and I'm making a surprise for them. Would you care if I also show you the surprise? I don't know much about what kids like these days, but I want them to remember..."

Before I get out of the car, I hear the boy saying, "I believe your son is really proud to have a father like you. And until he comes back, I'm here for you."

"I appreciate that, son. I'll see you soon."

"Did you... remember me?" His eyes widen and they're suddenly full of hope. I'm not sure what he thinks exactly, but I don't want to break his hope this early in life. "Believe me, you two are hard to forget."

His eyes start watering and I hug him. This poor kid must go through a hard time. "Everything will be okay, I promise. And, I hope to see you soon. Reach out to me if you need me."

His nose pokes my shoulder which I interpret as a nod.

After I spend some time with this girl, I invite her to the Room of Surprise for my kids. She barely talks while looking at all of the stuff. There's a hint of nostalgia in her eyes.

"Do you like it?"

"I do."

"And this, this is a photo of me, my wife, my daughter and my son. After I met you two, I realized that I want to make this room full of passion and courage. I want my kids to act just like both of you acted today."

She nods and it seems like her eyes are getting watery. I continue carefully. "I love them, you know. They were the reason I made all of this. So we can remember every second we spend together and we can cherish these moments forever. I know their lives have been tough in the past few months since their mother passed away and that I'm not always the best father out there. Sometimes I forget things that I don't want to forget. And my wife knew this habit of mine. Before she died she gave me the letter that says to keep everything I don't want to forget near. And because I can't tie them to live with me, I tie our memories together. They'll visit me soon and I'll show them. I hope they'll like it."

There's a pause before she responds. "I think they'll love it."

My eyes focus on a grain of dust. I clean it and show it to the girl's face. "Can I tell you one more story? It's tied to our family. When my wife died, we kept her ashes. On the day of her funeral, I think I heard Miriam's whisper. When I came home, I sat down and wrote a story inspired by dust's ability to become powerful, steady rock as the time passes by. I wanted to show to myself that I already am that dust. I wanted to show my kids they are too. And I'm telling you now the same thing. Don't let the water break your spirit. Instead, collect and shape yourself as you please and you'll do amazing things."

"I... I appreciate you."

I look into her eyes and it seems like for a split second something is hiding. There's a spark, like a long lost memory, that went out too quickly... Distant hope within her seems to die at the same time.

That's when the tears start falling on her face and I hug her to comfort her. I swear that it seems like between the sobs she says, "You never lost us dad, but we lost you. Oh God, we lost you."

"I'm sorry that I upsetted you. I promise that it will all be okay. It will all be okay, honey."

But, deep down, I just hope my family won't go through this with me one day. Am I selfish for thinking that?

Thoughts? :)♡

𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧𓆸٭✧

Author's note:

Dear readers, thank you for finishing this one shot story. 🌟 It's such an honour to publish this on the profile's third anniversary!

I have to express how sad I am for this is the end of Henry's story. He wasn't just some random character I made up in my head... Instead, he was almost like a person to me, the one that helped me re-discover my love and passion for writing.

I'd dedicate some time to give a proper thank you for all the amazing people that beta read and helped me polish out this work before I hit a "publish" button. I can't explain how grateful I am for their dedication and all of the feedback they gave to me just so you could read Henry's journey in this form. 💗

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

And if you loved getting to know Henry's story as much as I did, I encourage you to vote, comment and save this story to your public reading list. 👒

See you all in the other stories! 💓