Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: REMEMBER (02/03/22)
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TITLE: The Color 'Mylo' | Previous Challenge Entry
By Carrie Brannon
02/09/22 -
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Mylo was a ninety-four-year-old patient suffering from dementia. His disease left him confused and often combative, as memories, fresh as they’d been in real time years ago, erupted before his aged eyes. With each eruption the nursing staff would receive the bits and pieces of his life in the form of fragmented sentences. These offered little insight into who he was, for his life now was more a kaleidoscope, turned moment by moment by the hand of father time; the colors of his life fragmented, offering no recognizable portrait of he, who was the color ‘Mylo’.
Today his son took heart from the nurse’s encouraging words. “Well, it is the time of year when he always felt the happiest.” He said reflectively. “I think it made him remember when he came home from the war. I wasn’t even born then, but my older brother was. Dad often talked about that time when he finally met his baby boy and was back with mom, and, well…. I think it was the happiest time for him...” His voice trailed off as he pushed off the half wall. “I’ll go see him. I can’t stay long today. Thanks for the update.” The nurse smiled as he walked off, making a mental note to ask Mylo later about the time when he’d come back from the war.
The kaleidoscope twisted and the reflected colors broke apart and reassembled in a new muted display still with the color ‘Mylo’ in the center.
As time went by, Mylo’s dementia became more pronounced. His moments of lucidness occurred less often and were of shorter duration. He had frequent outburst of frustration as his mind reeled in and out of clouded memories. The staff became adept at deflecting the more violent outbursts by asking about facts of his life that would help him focus on a reality. “Mylo, tell me about your oldest son Paul.” Or “Mylo, what did you do in your time overseas during the war?” Or “Mylo, what was your wife’s name?”, “How many children do you have?” Sometimes the answers were historically right on, sometimes the answers were a mix of the present and the past, and sometimes the cloudy eyes would look beyond the inquisitor and stare into the window of memory to a moment he could no longer articulate. Staff would pat his hand gently then and move on with the days’ time-sensitive business, leaving the past in the past.
The colored chips hit the angled mirrors of the kaleidoscope as it turned again. The image showed new and symmetrical, but still blurred. Yet, the central most point of color remained the color ‘Mylo’.
Finally, the week came when the memories would be sorted out at last. During the week, the nurses’ shift reports would tick off the highlights of each day: “#201 has a bed sore, #206 is going on a day pass with family tomorrow, #207 has had a poor appetite today, #209 (Mylo) is “declining”. He needs comfort measures only. His family is here.”
The family assembles around the bed. The soft words shared are spoken with smiles and tears alike as memories from years ago are held, fondled, and cherished. A daughter leans in “Dad, can you hear me? We love you Dad!” Her voice breaks and tears drop on his hand and hers. Her brother reaches over, and half-hugs his sister “He hears you, Cindy. He knows.” Then the leaden lids close, like shutters over the windows of his soul, as those who love him say their last goodbyes. With one last labored breath his spirit goes with the winged ones who will lead him to the gates of Paradise where all will be made clear again.
The kaleidoscope stops turning, the pattern now firm and complete. The color ‘Mylo’ remains forever memorialized by those he leaves behind as surely as his eternal spirit lives on.
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