LEXI VELTE Alzheimer’s

ALZHEIMER’’S

By Lexi Velte

My nurse always enters my room with a knock and a smile on her face. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel her cheerful energy filling the room. I remember her name- Theresa- and how she said that she was named after her grandmother. I slowly open my eyes to see her grinning face as she trills, “Good morning, sunshine!” Theresa turns around to open my closet, and I see the dark, intricate braids wrapped around her head. I remember that she told me it takes hours to get them done. She is dressed in white scrubs with a pattern of dainty, little blue flowers scattered across, and I remember that blue is her favorite color.

“Have you run through your checklist today?” she asks me while holding up two shirts for me to choose from. “The purple one,” I respond, “and I’m still working on the checklist.” I remember that purple is my favorite color. “Alright, well, while you do that, I’m just gonna fill you in on the schedule for today. It’s Wednesday, so Jim is coming at the normal time.” She pauses, waiting for me to check off the corresponding facts. I remember that Jim is the man who visits me twice a week. I remember that he is also my husband. I nod, which she takes as a sign to continue. “You have knitting as your activity today, are you okay with that?” I smile and nod again. Knitting is something that I’ll never forget. Putting needles and yarn together comes as instinctively to me as eating or drinking. “And you are also going to have an extra visiting session today; it’s been a while since you’ve seen them, so I’ll give you a little reminder. Julie, your oldest daughter, will be coming to see you, along with her husband Michael and your granddaughter Louise.” She gives me a moment to take that in.

I don’t remember my life before I came here. I don’t remember getting married or buying a house, and I don’t remember being a mother and watching my kids grow up. But they remember every moment that we’ve spent together. It breaks my heart when my children come to visit me, because while Jim has become used to my forgetfulness, my children haven’t. No amount of mental preparation can prepare them for the fact that their mother does not remember the sleepovers they had their best friends, the awards they won in science fairs and sports games, their first dates or school dances. It’s as if their entire lives have not taken place, because to me, it feels like they haven't’. “You know how I feel about that, Theresa,” I say quietly after a moment. She helps me with the buttons on my blouse. “I know you don’t remember them, sweetheart, but they love you and care about you. They just want to make sure you’re doing alright.” “They can just call here, or ask Jim.” The only thing they’ll gain from coming here to visit me is sorrow and unpleasant memories.

“It’ll be fine, I promise. Now, come on, let’s get you some breakfast.” I take a deep breath. Her smile is contagious, and I can’t help but return it with one of my own. At 11:00, it’s time for the first visiting session of the day. As I make my way to the sitting room, I already see the top of Jim’s head, just a few wisps of hair away from being bald. I sit down, and he waits while my eyes take in his face, forcing my mind to find recognition in the laugh lines and creases pressed deep into the skin. I remember that he has a quiet kindness about him, shown through his few words and rare smiles. He takes my arthritic hand in his, twisting around the wedding band I still keep on my finger. We sit in a comfortable silence, the love I used to feel for him now taking the form of familiarity and un-

derstanding. “I’m guessing they told you that the kids are coming today,” he says after a while. I nod. He gives me a wry smile. “I told them that you were fine. I know how you feel about them coming to see you.” I grimace. “I just wish that it wasn’t like this. It isn’t fair to you. I hate hurting you all like this.” “You aren’t hurting me,” he says quietly, his eyes glancing at my face before quickly flitting away. We both know that he is lying, but the visiting session is over. “I’ll knit a new blanket. It’s supposed to be a cold winter,” I tell him in place of a goodbye. He nods, and I leave to go to my activity. Knitting is where I feel at home. My knitting needles feel like extensions of my arms, my movements as natural as breathing. While I’m not able to share my love with those in my life through reminiscing about good times we’ve had together, I can share it by making something special for them during my activity time. Theresa keeps me updated on important birthdays and holidays so that I can make something special for everyone that the old me loved and cared for. I’ve made pastel sweaters for grandchildren I’ve never met, patterned tablemats for my children when they bought their first homes, a floral scarf for Theresa on Christmas, a soft blanket for Jim on our anniversary last year. It feels like a way to make up for all the pain I’ve caused, and it’s a good way to pass time. I close my eyes and let my hands do their work.

It feels like I’ve only just begun knitting when Theresa comes to bring me to the second visiting session. All of the relaxation I felt only moments before melts away into a bubbling anxiety as I remember that I have to go see my daughter and her family now. I watch as my trembling hands seem to move on their

own, folding the first few rows of Jim’s blanket and placing my knitting needles into my bin. Theresa places a comforting hand on my arm. “They know what to expect, hun. I’ve met Julia; she’s a really sweet girl. She understands what you’re going through, so don’t worry about this, okay?” I nod and force a smile onto my face. I hope she’s right. Afternoon visiting sessions are always busier than the morning ones. Grown-up children sitting with their elderly parents fill the space. I let my eyes roam the room until I spot a woman with curly brown hair; a tall, thin man; and a little blond child. This is a trick that I taught myself- look for the people without a resident already with them. I lift the corners of my mouth in greeting, hoping that they believe my feigning recognition. Theresa gives me a quick pat on the back before sending me on my way. I feel like a child riding a bike whose training wheels have just been taken off. “Hi, Mom,” the woman greets me hesitantly, getting up to help me into a seat. She’s unsure whether to smile or not, her face a mask of indecision. I quickly try to take in this woman who is supposed to be my daughter, trying to force my mind to remember her round face and large brown eyes that are so much like my own. “Hi, Julia, how are you?” I ask, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. I must have been convincing, because she finally grins. “I’m doing really well, Mom. I’d like to introduce you- er, reintroduce you- to my husband Michael and our daughter Louise.” Michael shakes my hand. “It’s really good to see you.” I return the sentiment before turning towards Louise. “How old are you, Louise?” She darts behind her father’s chair so that only her dark blond

curls are visible. Her mother chuckles. “She’s five. She acts like she’s younger, though.” This is where a normal mother would say, “I remember when you were that age,” and launch into a story about her daughter’s childhood. But I’m not a normal mother, and I can’t provide any relevant anecdotes, so I just say, “She’s precious.” The rest of the visit passes smoothly, just a woman and her much younger acquaintances having a bit of small talk. I learn that my daughter is a middle school teacher and that my son-in -law is a car salesman. Louise is attending kindergarten at the school my children attended. I had almost forgotten my fears from before, but then Louise decides to peek her head around the chair and speak up. “I came to see you when I was four.” She holds up four fingers to accentuate her point. “Do you remember me?” Julie and her husband grow very still, Julie’s mouth trying to frame words that would never be enough to make up for the fact that I don’t remember her. My hands start to shake, so I quickly place them on my lap. “Well, Louise, I recognize you now. You look just like your parents.” I smile, trying to pretend like the tension settling around the table isn’t there. It’s impossible to return to the carefree chitchat that we were having previously, and the next twenty minutes feel like hours. Finally the visiting session ends and Theresa comes to rescue me. I hug the strangers who are supposed to be my family and ask them to write, though we both know the only letters they’ll be sending to me will be their Christmas cards in December. “I love you,” I tell to the three people I met today, hoping that they won’t see through my lie. If I don’t want it to be a lie, then does that make it the truth?

I’m quiet tonight as Theresa gets me ready for bed. She’s been

careful not to press me about my visit with the family. She sets out my pills, reminding me what each one is for, and then hands me a glass of water. “Bottoms up,” she says with a wink. I smile weakly before swallowing each capsule. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, Theresa.” “Of course, doll.” Before she turns out the lights, she sits on the edge of my bed, singing me to sleep with a song about cowboys and highways and sweet baby James. As she gets up to leave, she brushes my hair out of my face, whispering, “Goodnight.” She closes the door silently behind her. Sleep takes me quickly, my late night fears swept away before I get the chance to dwell on them. I dream of a life that in my consciousness I don’t remember, a life of walks on the beach and flip flops and bike rides and tans. I dream of my Jim, my strong, kindhearted Jim. I dream of my happy children- Julia, Andrew, and Ruth. I dream of a cloudy day, dragging all our bikes outside, ignoring the groans that ensue. I promise to make brownies for dessert, and my children grudgingly agree to come along. We ride through the neighborhood, silently relishing in the breeze and the feeling that we’re flying. Even Ruth can’t hide her elation as we ring our bells at the waving neighbors. When we arrive back at the house, everyone pitches in to help bake dessert, even though my ‘helpers’ eat more than they assist. We all go to bed that night with full bellies and happy faces. I curl into Jim’s side and close my eyes. My nurse always enters my room with a knock and a smile on her face. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel her cheerful energy filling the room. But this morning, I can’t seem to remember her name.

FEBRUARY 26TH, 11:16PM

By Ashton Tejeda

That night I ran into the open field and collapsed Like all the weight of my worries couldn't be held back anymore By the shield I put up in my brain. I lay on the cold earth sobbing, Every emotion leaving my body like waves. The rise and fall of my chest shook my body As I tried to stop crying but I couldn't. I laid on my back and looked up at the stars.

I felt so small, So insignificant. How dare someone say that I matter If when I look up at the thousands of stars in the sky My brain can barely count the ones in front of me? How dare someone say that I mean something When the feeling of coldness through my bones Was the only thing I felt in a long time? The moisture from the grass seeped into my hair and clothes And had my body shivering in between sobs And choking inhales of breath.

It's so hard. It's so hard to survive the day When I can't even look at my own reflection Without a look of disgust on my face. It's so hard to survive the day When every other consuming thought in my head Was what I had done to you? It's so hard to survive the day Not knowing if this was the last day I was able to survive. I am a freshly picked flower.

Portraying a look of beauty and joy When it's slowly withering away Due to lack of nutrients. I'm slowly wilting as I try to perceive my life as happy and free. My petals are falling one by one to the ground And soon enough it will show the truth Of the decay I'm going through. I need to be replanted. I need the brown soil to surround me in safety. I need the refreshment of water to rehydrate my roots. I need the brightness of the sun To bring back the warmth in my life

I need you. I need you to hold me in your arms, And tell me what I did to you broke your heart. I need you to tell me that you forgive me I need you to tell me that you understand That what I did to you was unintentional. Those words I said were the result of dried out roots And lack of soil to support my wilting stem. I need you to tell me that I'm going to be okay I need you to tell me that days spent lying in bed Talking about our future meant the world to you.

Your touch could bring the warmth back into my life. I need your gentle hands to replant my roots And water me with your affection again. Until then I'll remain a single picked flower on the earth Waiting for someone to replant me again. And show me how the warmth of equally returned love Could feel in my life once more.