Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Bitter and Sweet (05/28/09)
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TITLE: Losing Mary | Previous Challenge Entry
By Autumn Ten
05/28/09 -
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Evan began to grimace after Mary asked him the question again. It was the tenth time or so today.
He'd put off taking her to the doctor way too long.
When the diagnosis came, it hit harder than the knock out blow from a prize fighter.
"Alzheimers. Isn't that the old people's disease? Are you sure?," Evan asked, his eyes fixed firmly on the worn tiles of the floor.
Both questions were rhetorical. It was just the disbelief talking.
Mary was barely 50.
This isn't how it's supposed to be, and yet it's undeniably a reality.
The next question that came to Evan's mind was, why? And after that, how am I going to take care of her?
Um, yes, I need a babysitter. How old is she? Um, 50...
Oh brother.
The idea of pushing her off into a corner at a nursing home made Evan sick to his stomach. He pictured an old disrepaired wheelchair, Mary slumped over in it, sitting in her own filth and mumbling jibberish to the wall. It sent a shiver down his spine.
But at least he was facing it, trying to think up a game plan.
The kids didn't know how to deal with it. Laura, the oldest, would start to cry as soon as she walked through the door for a visit. Ian and Daniel avoided visiting alltogether.
It was a blessing that they were all enjoying success, but also a curse. They could simply choose to run away or stay away. Evan didn't have that choice.
Mary watched as Evan installed the gate on the porch. She was usually the extra pair of hands for such projects, but now she was the confused onlooker.
If he asked for the hammer, she'd hand him a coffee cup.
"There we are," Evan said with a false sense of satisfaction. He told himself he was helping keep Mary safe, but really it was just another way of imprisoning her, like the disease that locked away her mind and threw away the key.
But she was still his Mary.
The love of his life, the mother of his children, his best friend on this Earth. Just because she was the disoriented stranger that lived with him now, that didn't change any of that.
Memories. Think back. Before the porch gate, before the diagnosis, before the first sign that the train wreck was coming. Evan lulled himself to sleep each night with happier days. In a parallel dream world where time stood still. Sleep after all, was the only escape that he had.
Sometimes he would pray. He'd tell Jesus that he wished he was here in the physical sense, so that he could literally lay his hands on Mary, and she would be assured her miracle. Part of the reason was selfish, he admitted. Thier life would be purged of this cruel invader.
Alzheimers it seemed, went one of two ways. It either crept along like the slowest snail in the pack, or raced so quickly that it skipped the decline and went straight to death.
This brings up another burning question. Which is more merciful?
Most would say the quick way. Some would rather buy the time in hopes of a breakthrough. Maybe it depends on your tolerance for suffering.
There are just no good choices here, Evan thought, rocking on the porch swing.
Mary played with the gate like a puzzle, trying to imitate the way others had opened it. Neighbors for instance. Good neighbors, worth thier weight in gold, not meaning to do any harm. At least they weren't afraid. At least there was someone to lean on, or to have an adult conversation with.
Mary kicked the gate, rattled it like an angry gorilla, and then fell to her knees sobbing. She wet herself after crawling into the corner behind the swing.
Evan bit his bottom lip, mustering all the strength he had to keep from breaking down. He wanted to tear the gate from its hinges and let her go free. A sheep amongst the wolves, so to speak. But instead, he took her inside and held her in his arms.
"With me, you can't be lost," he told her. "I love you," he added, still choking back his own melt down.
"I love you too," Mary whispered.
God had given her back to him, only for a few seconds, but that was a good enough miracle for today.
MY TEARS HAVE BEEN MY FOOD DAY AND NIGHT, WHILE MEN SAY TO ME CONTINUALLY, "WHERE IS YOUR GOD?"
PSALMS 42:3
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