Challenge #22: Weekly Drabble
As the nurse wheeled her back into the room, he smiled, but she only stared back. It was becoming rarer that she would remember him. Sometimes, after a little bit of prompting, she would, but other days-most days-they sat chatting as perfect strangers. Most often she mentioned her childhood, but occasionally she would mention her husband and their two daughters. These times he felt a little guilty pretending to be someone else, but if she was pushed too hard to remember, she would become agitated and that was even more heart wrenching.
At first, her not remembering him crushed him. It was not only an outward sign of what was raging inside of her, but it made him feel as if his past with her had been erased, had been all in his head without another person to confirm it had actually happened. Nowadays, though, he just appreciates the time he still gets to spend with her, even if he is the only one who will remember it.
“She’s having a good day,” the nurse tells him. “How are you today?”
In his position it’s a question that he gets asked frequently. He never knows what to say. He isn’t fine-he shouldn’t be fine-but he hasn’t broken down either. He still cleans the house, feeds himself, and pays the bills.
“Functioning,” he decides with a small chuckle. The nurse smiles and quietly leaves the room.
His phone silently rings in his pocket as his wife drifts off to sleep.
“Hey, Dad…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said calmly.
“It’s just too hard,” she said her voice cracking.
“I know,” he said softly before hanging up.
He doesn’t entirely understand himself how he does it. The idea of being in this predicament, of his wife virtually dying in front of him day after day, is unbearable yet he returns every morning. Sometimes he thinks he does it out of obligation. He can’t just leave her here after all these years. Sometimes he thinks it’s out of love and a refusal to give her up until he has no choice. Other times he thinks it’s out of denial and his refusing to believe she will never come home and will never be the same. He can’t remember everything like she could-the intricate details of their first date and all the things he used to say that she’d retell at parties and holidays with a laugh-but he never stopped remembering the twinkle in her eye when she’d see him. Even after years of marriage, she’d be just as excited to see him come home from work as if she hadn’t seen him for days. As he watches her peacefully sleep, he thinks that that’s what keeps him coming back: the hope to see her smile and that shimmer in her eye again.
At first, her not remembering him crushed him. It was not only an outward sign of what was raging inside of her, but it made him feel as if his past with her had been erased, had been all in his head without another person to confirm it had actually happened. Nowadays, though, he just appreciates the time he still gets to spend with her, even if he is the only one who will remember it.
“She’s having a good day,” the nurse tells him. “How are you today?”
In his position it’s a question that he gets asked frequently. He never knows what to say. He isn’t fine-he shouldn’t be fine-but he hasn’t broken down either. He still cleans the house, feeds himself, and pays the bills.
“Functioning,” he decides with a small chuckle. The nurse smiles and quietly leaves the room.
His phone silently rings in his pocket as his wife drifts off to sleep.
“Hey, Dad…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said calmly.
“It’s just too hard,” she said her voice cracking.
“I know,” he said softly before hanging up.
He doesn’t entirely understand himself how he does it. The idea of being in this predicament, of his wife virtually dying in front of him day after day, is unbearable yet he returns every morning. Sometimes he thinks he does it out of obligation. He can’t just leave her here after all these years. Sometimes he thinks it’s out of love and a refusal to give her up until he has no choice. Other times he thinks it’s out of denial and his refusing to believe she will never come home and will never be the same. He can’t remember everything like she could-the intricate details of their first date and all the things he used to say that she’d retell at parties and holidays with a laugh-but he never stopped remembering the twinkle in her eye when she’d see him. Even after years of marriage, she’d be just as excited to see him come home from work as if she hadn’t seen him for days. As he watches her peacefully sleep, he thinks that that’s what keeps him coming back: the hope to see her smile and that shimmer in her eye again.