79: Alzheimer's - one of them gets it and the other takes care of them.
DISCLAIMER: All mistakes are my own and storyline ideas were created through rigorous research. I have not experienced this disease firsthand, so I apologise for any inaccuracies, though I did my best to make it as accurate as I could by researching many reputable resources, such as charities and family members of those affected.
Anyway, I hope you guys like this heartbreaking little one shot. All reviews are greatly appreciated, and I would love to know what you all think of this story! Thank you so much for reading.
6th July 2053.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Locksley. Your husband has Alzheimer's."
It was the words I was expecting to hear, but the words I could never have prepared myself for. Robin has Alzheimer's. The love of my life and the man I have spent the majority of my life with has the disease we feared he may have, and will soon become a stranger to me. As we will become a stranger to him.
My loving husband will eventually have a hard time remembering who I am, who our children are, and who our grandchildren are. Soon things like having a simple conversation with the man I love will become a hardship.
I looked over to him as he took my hand in the doctors surgery, and I tried, I really did, to smile at him as I gave his fingers a soft squeeze.
The symptoms had started slowly.
Robin started to forget little things. Like where he had put his shoes, or his glasses. He had forgotten he had to pick our granddaughter, Lucy, up from school one day. He thought it was a Tuesday. We put it down to old age, initially. After all, we are approaching our eighties. But then it started becoming more frequent and more worrying. Like, for example, he had forgotten how to tie his laces a few weeks ago.
We laughed about it at first.
"You foolish old man!" I had chastised playfully as I crouched down and did it for him.
But when I looked up at him, he had that worried look etched on his face and I immediately felt awful. That's when we discussed the possibility of going to the doctors to get him checked out 'just in case'.
Turns out we were right to throw caution to the wind.
"I'll give you two a moment and then we can discuss medication."
I nodded but I felt numb. I had goosebumps on my arms and my tongue felt heavy in my mouth.
"I'm sorry, Love."
I looked over at Robin with a frown. "For what?" My voice was quiet and raspy, foreign to my own ears.
The man sighed closing his eyes. "For becoming a burden."
The words broke my heart and tears gathered and leaked down my cheeks as I shook my head and took his hand in both of mine. "You will never be a burden," I whispered earnestly, kissing his wrinkled knuckles. "Please don't say that. Please don't think that," I pleaded with him, holding his hand to my chest as if it's all I had of him.
"I can't bear it, Regina. I can't bear the thought of not knowing who you are, of becoming suspicious of your every intention. I don't want you to have to take care of me. That's not a marriage. That's a job."
His words were like tiny shards of glass, each one penetrating my heart as they slipped from his lips. It was going to be hard, I knew that, but it was not something we could escape, it was something we were going to have to work through together. Through the hard times and the good. "But Robin, I love you," I assured, stroking my thumb over the back of his hand. "And I will do anything for you. You know that."
"I do."
"And I know you would do the same for me."
"I would."
"Right. So we are going to get through this together."
…
Four to eight years.
The words echoed in my mind throughout the entire drive home from the doctor's surgery. Four to eight years left of my husband's life; that's what the expert had said. There's a possibility he could live longer, but the disease tends to shorten life expectancy drastically—and the thought of slowly losing my husband mentally before he physically leaves this earth, that's what hurts most. Because Alzheimer's alters personalities, it changes people and makes them entirely different to the ones you fell in love with as it plays around with their memories and pulls out the plug on some of the most important ones.
Soon there will be a stranger sharing my house, my home, my bed.
These four to eight years won't be easy. They won't be spent travelling Europe together like we always wanted to do during our years of retirement. Instead, they will be spent in and out of Doctor's surgeries and sorting pills into the allocated slots of a pill pot. Because there will be good days and bad days, or good days that turn into bad days, both entirely out of my and his control. I know this, and so does he.
I look over to where Robin is sitting now in his armchair, a frown etched onto his mouth and his eyes a sad grey as they look blankly out of the window and into our garden. He is not taking it in though, I can tell he is deep in thought. He is worried. About me, and about the man he is to become over the next few years.
…
18th August 2053.
It's been a little over two months since the diagnosis. Robin is losing weight. I'm worried about him, but he's stressed, he's upset and frustrated and has completely lost his appetite. I made him his favourite for dinner tonight; shepherds pie with peas. I had hoped it would turn things around, bringing something familiar and safe to the table.
But do you know what he did when I served it to him? He dropped his face into his hands and he wept.
And when I asked him why, he replied, "I can't eat peas. I can't get them on the fork."
I offered my help, but he refused. He was angry at himself. He didn't want to be spoon fed. He didn't want to lose his dignity.
He didn't eat dinner tonight.
…
29th August 2053.
It was sunny when we woke up this morning, and this changed Robin's mood. He was awake before me, climbed into the shower without a reminder, even sang a tune or two.
So we decided to go out, only to the village café for a coffee. We sat by the window, with the sun streaming over our table. He looked so tired with dark circles under his eyes. His laughter lines were deeper, more severe, and the wrinkles across his forehead were fiercer.
He smiled at me, reached for my hand and squeezed it. "You look beautiful, my love."
My heart clenched at the compliment and I smiled right back, squeezed his fingers and thanked him earnestly.
But my smile soon dropped when he almost immediately said again, with conviction, "You look beautiful, my love."
After the fifth time, the compliment had lost its charm a little but I smiled, thanked him as I did the first four times and then tried to changed the subject.
…
February 1st, 2054.
Today is my 76th birthday. Today was a bad day.
Today we had the family around to celebrate. So I helped Robin into a dashing little suit. He kissed my cheek, told me how lucky he was to have me and comments like that, which used to be so frequent and are now so rare, pluck at my heartstrings.
Henry arrived first, with Lucinda and their daughter Lucy. She was growing so fast, had just got her braces fitted—since when had she become old enough to wear braces?
"Grandma!" she cried when she saw me, "Happy birthday!" I hugged her tightly before she asked, "Where's Grandad?"
"I'm here," Robin greeted, coming into the hallway to greet his son and granddaughter. He hugged Lucy before looking up at Lucinda. "Who's this hussy, Henry?" he asked.
We thought he was joking. He wasn't.
"You thought you could just bring your next slut to your mother's birthday party?" he asked angrily.
Everyone was speechless and Henry quickly stepped in front of his wife of nearly twenty years. "Dad, please don't use that language in front of Lucy."
"Robin," I stepped in, taking his arm in my hands gently. "This is Lucinda, Henry's wife, you remember?"
"No, I don't bloody remember and I don't want this stranger in my house!" he exclaimed.
"It's alright, Regina," Lucinda said softly, a small understanding smile on her lips. "I'll go. I don't want to cause any upset on your birthday." She turned to Henry. "I'll come pick you and Lucy up later, okay?" She kissed his cheek and left.
I wanted to protest, but I knew it was more trouble than it was worth. After all, Robin couldn't help it. That's what I tell myself now as I look over at his peacefully sleeping form in bed next to me.
…
February 21st, 2054.
Today I moved out of our bedroom permanently, after a panic attack Robin displayed when he found out he had shared his bed with his 'sister' for the night. It's not the first time he has called me this.
So tonight I am sleeping in the spare room, reading my book and worrying about the man in the room next door. I just hope tomorrow he wakes and remembers me as his wife. Though in this room I will stay. It's less risky this way.
…
May 14th, 2054.
I was in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast when I heard an earth-shattering smash come from upstairs. And I rushed to the bedroom immediately, as fast as my legs could carry me, only to find Robin sat on the floor weeping. His hands were covered in blood and the floor length mirror lied shattered to pieces on the floor around him.
"Robin!" I cried, running to him.
But Robin jerked away from my touch as if I were a monster. "Go away!" he shouted, refusing to look me in the eyes. "That mirror is playing horrible tricks on me!" he wept, rocking in his place.
I was trying not to panic. I didn't want to worry him further in this fragile state, so I asked cautiously, "What do you mean?"
Robin shook his head. "It showed me an old man." He looked up at me, eyes puffy from crying. "How can I be grey and wrinkled when I am only thirteen years old?!" he sobs, pulling painfully at the roots of his hair.
We spent the rest of the day in hospital. He's let out the next morning and I drive him home.
…
December 25th, 2054.
On Christmas Eve Roland and his family came to stay. I was relieved when we did not have a repeat of my Birthday; Robin was subdued and tired, he didn't say much, just sat in his armchair and watched TV. He went to bed early.
It's been hard for Roland; he's always been close to his father, and he's struggling to come to terms with Robin's illness. Last night, when everyone else was in bed, we spoke for hours. About everything.
My heart ached for my son as he cried in my arms; it was like he was eight years old again.
I prayed that Christmas Day would be a good day for Robin.
And it was and it wasn't.
I woke up early to stuff the turkey when I heard the grandchildren whispering excitedly about Father Christmas as they tiptoed down the stairs. And when I went out to the hallway to see them, my heart soared excitedly to see that Robin was with both of them, holding their hands and whispering, "Lets see what Santa left us!" He smiled at me and I smiled right back at him.
It was only when I followed them into the living room that I slowly began to feel my heart sink and my stomach twist. Because it was then that I realised Robin wasn't pretending for his grandchildren's sake; he really did believe Santa had come last night.
"No way!" my husband exclaimed as Roland's eldest son, William, ripped open his first gift. "I want a train set too!"
I felt a presence behind me and turned to see my son, a frown etched onto his lips as I hugged him into my side. "He thinks he's a kid again, doesn't he?" he asked me and I nodded slowly.
"Yes, baby," I replied with a small sigh. "Today he does."
And the next day, and the day after that.
…
June 22nd, 2055.
It was 3am when I hear the TV turn on downstairs. Robin does this sometimes, when he can't sleep, and I know tomorrow will be a bad day. I've learnt quickly over the past few years, through experience and talking to experts, that a bad nights sleep often leads to the following day being a bad one.
I went downstairs and into the living room, quietly asking if he wanted a cup of tea. He nodded but didn't say anything. So I busied myself in the kitchen whilst he lost himself in mindless middle-of-the-night television.
"Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart. I'll be in my room but just call my name. I'll hear you, okay?" I said as I handed him his tea. I have learnt not to fill the mug all the way up from previous spillages and upset.
"Yes," he managed. But he didn't look at me, and that was my cue to leave.
And now, as I lay in bed at 3:30am I try not to let the tears that lay unshed along my lower eyelids fall. Tonight I miss my loving and happy husband terribly.
…
November 3rd, 2055.
Today Robin hurt me. I know he didn't mean to, it wasn't his fault and I shouldn't have grabbed him. But there was no other way to stop him.
"I have to pick Henry up from school," he had said as he wondered into the kitchen mid-afternoon.
I smiled cautiously, putting down the dishcloth from where I was wiping down the sides and said quietly, "Henry isn't at school, sweetheart."
Robin frowned, grabbing the car keys. "What day is it?"
I sighed. I knew where this was going. "Thursday."
"Then why the hell wouldn't he be at school?" he asked, getting irritated.
"Henry left school twenty five years ago, Robin."
Robin looked at me as if I had two heads. "No he didn't. I took him to school this morning," he protested, heading towards the front door.
I couldn't let him drive, not in this frame of mind, and certainly not to an empty playground. I followed him to the hallway. "Robin, sweetheart, listen to me. Henry isn't at school."
"Yes he is," he replied, reaching for his coat and pulling it on.
"Robin—"
He reached for the front door and I reached for him. That's when he elbowed me. Hard in the breast. I stumbled back from the sharp pain and it was enough to distract Robin from his thoughts.
He apologised to me over and over. But it was my fault. I shouldn't have grabbed him when he was in that state of mind, when his actions and words are unpredictable.
Tonight I cannot sleep on my right side due to the purple bruise that has formed over my right breast. But the pain is pale in comparison to the pain I feel when Robin struggles to remember the man he truly is.
…
April 4th, 2056.
Robin told me he loved me today.
I had woken up to him in the kitchen, struggling with the cooker. He was frustrated, cursing under his breath, so I quickly approached him, gently placing my hands on his shoulders. After all, I wasn't sure what mood he was in today; these days it's rarely a good one.
"Blasted hobs won't light," he grumbled as he turned to face me, and for a moment I saw a glimmer of the old Robin in his eyes.
I chuckled, "What are you trying to do, sweetheart?"
"I thought I would make pancakes for my love," he replied, kissing my forehead before heading back to the stove. I lit it for him and he went back to making the pancakes.
"What's the occasion?" I asked with a small smile.
"The occasion is I love you."
The smile I bore was wide and brilliant. It's days like this that make the hard times worth it, where my heart feels a little lighter and I am reminded of the man I fell in love with.
We spent the rest of the day just like we used to, looking through photo albums and talking about old memories—some of which he struggled to remember but was eager to hear more about—and taking a stroll through the village before dinner. Robin even stopped to talk to a few of his friends who he recognised.
Today was a great day.
…
January 12th, 2057.
Robin lost the use of his legs today. He cried for me in the early hours of the morning after he had fallen out of bed and couldn't physically get up off of the floor.
I rang the ambulance and the paramedics came and checked for any broken bones or sprains. He was in the clear, but now we've been given a wheelchair for him to use and I could tell by the look in his eyes he was devastated.
"Walking was the only freedom I had left," Robin told me quietly over dinner as I helped him gather soup onto his spoon before handing it to him to feed himself.
I frowned and rubbed his back but did not say anything. After all, what could I say to reassure him without lying to him?
I helped him up the stairs to bed tonight. The men are coming tomorrow to fit the stairlift.
…
May 1st, 2059.
Robin is in constant pain, his muscles, joints and stomach hurts. He hasn't eaten properly in three days and hasn't be able to empty his bowels in just under a week despite the medication.
He told me he no longer wants to live.
I cried myself to sleep last night.
…
June 28th, 2059.
I almost lost him today.
It was 3pm when Robin began to have a stroke. The paramedics came quickly and we were rushed to hospital.
Now he has completely lost his voice and can only communicate through body language and mild facial expressions. I shall miss his voice.
…
March 23rd, 2060.
Experts have always said that wives are meant to outlive their husbands. Something to do with evolution. But nothing could have ever prepared me for the moment where I lost my husband for good. It was so sudden, so unexpected but so… peaceful.
I found him in his favourite armchair. He was no longer breathing and he was cold to touch. He must've never gone to bed the night before. I wept in his lap until there were no more tears to give, but truth is, I had been mourning my husband's death for months leading up to this moment.
I called the ambulance and with a heavy heart I watched them take the love of my life away from me permanently.
…
March 25th, 2060.
Henry and Roland have come to stay with me. This morning we went through his things. We laughed about the good things and cried for the man we lost.
…
March 26th, 2060.
Today I found his video.
I won't watch it yet. I need time to prepare myself.
…
March 28th, 2060.
I watched it, and I could never have prepared myself for it.
I wonder now, how will I go on to live my life without this wonderful man in it?
…
Video: Filmed 8th July 2053.
"Hello is this thing on?"
Robin fiddles with the lens of the camera before taking a seat in his armchair. "I've already filmed this once, but the blasted thing didn't record," he grumbles before rolling his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, my love. Typical Robin."
The grey haired man chuckles before he smiles and knots his hands in his lap. "Hello, Regina.
"It's been two days since we found out about my Alzheimer's. And honestly I am a little terrified. I'm terrified because I know there will be days where I cannot love you the way you deserve to be loved. Nor our children, or our grandchildren." His voice becomes tight and he reaches for the tissue tucked up the sleeve of his jumper before bringing it up to dab at his eyes.
"I thought I would make you this video before things progressed. To say thank you. I know that when you watch this I will probably be no longer around—and if I am, what are you doing snooping around my stuff?" He laughs lightly before shaking his head.
"I want to thank you for sticking with me despite how difficult I am about to become. Despite the struggles you are about to face daily. But even though I may not seem like the Robin you married on some days, I am still there. That part of me, the part that loves you endlessly, will never die. Not with this illness, not with death itself.
"I'm sorry for the days the illness—I—make you doubt that. I am sorry for the days where I shout at you or, God forbid, hurt you, and I am so sorry for every tear I make you shed. I'm sorry for the worry I will cause you, I am sorry for the days where I struggle to remember who you are, and I am sorry that is the man you will be left with throughout the remainder of my life.
"But, my love, I am not sorry for the life we have shared. For the wonderful memories we have created, the family we have raised and the life we have built together. That's why I am making you this video, so that after I have gone you will remember me. This Robin. The Robin who loves you and his family more than anything on this earth. The Robin who wouldn't dream to even raise his voice at you, and who vowed to kiss away every tear you shed.
"You're a wonderful woman, Regina. With a heart bigger than I ever deserved to be a part of."
He smiles then, his gaze directed towards the window. "You're home, so I have to go." he looks back to the camera and waves. "Goodbye, my love." He blows a kiss to the camera. "And remember, I will be with you. Always."