Author's Note:
I am seriously blown away by the positve response after I posted the previous chapter. My inbox skyrocketed with story alerts, reviews and messages. It makes me happy that people seem to like this story so much, especially since I only got back into writing and it sometimes feels a little like pulling teeth when I'm writing. Thank you all so much for building my confidence like this.
Your continuous support drives me to get invested even deeper in the story myself. So here's another long chapter, even longer than chapter five. I worked on this for quite some time, had to step back from it to keep myself objective, because some of the things that happen in this chapter are based on real life experiences I had while working in a group home for people with dementia. I hope I managed to capture the emotions without getting carried away with them.
Enjoy!
January 2002
"So, you know Mr. Fredericks from your time at middle school, right? We did this awesome prank on him today. We were asking him for permission on everything, like if it was okay for us to sharpen our pencils, blow our nose, open the algebra book, et cetera. Amanda even asked him, if she was allowed to undress her sweater at some point. Mr. Fredericks turned hot red in the face in embarrassment at that. The whole class erupted in laughs and giggles. Algebra has never been this much fun, I tell ya, Eric!"
Eric laughed as he listened to Emma reciting the adventures of her school day. She was a skilled storyteller and loved to exaggerate and color them to make them even more enjoyable for her listeners. While doing so she always wildly gesticulated with her whole body to make it more visual as well. Eric was impressed with his sisters' talent and could very well picture her on a theater stage in the future, either as an entertainer or as an actress. The interest was definitely there.
"So, we did this prank for the whole lesson and like ten minutes before class would have been over, he just snapped. He left without saying another word. I don't know if he wants to ever teach in our class again," Emma concluded her story with a heartily laugh just as they climbed the stairs to the front porch of the bungalow. Eric put the keys in the lock and opened the door, letting them in. They were still laughing when they stepped into the hallway of the small house and called a "Mom, we're home" in unison.
At first no answer was forthcoming, but after a minute or so a crash could be heard from upstairs soon followed by a hysteric scream. Eric and Emma sobered up immediately and shared a concerned look. Had someone broken into the house and was now threatening their mother? Eric discarded his backpack and carefully made his way up the stairs, motioning for Emma to stay put. Eric didn't know where his sudden bravery came from, but he blamed it on the adrenaline rushing through his veins. As he reached the top of the stairs he followed the sound of items being smashed on the floor. The noise got louder the closer he came to his mothers' bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and Eric dared take a look. He took a deep breath that did nothing to calm his nerves and pushed the door open with a little more force than necessary.
Revealing only his mother and nobody else he felt relief wash over him and blew out the air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Mom," he called to get her attention. She stood in the middle of the room, angrily pulling her hair. Clothes, hangers and picture frames were strewn all over the floor, the small lamp from the bedside table lay smashed among them, glass shards all over the place. "What happened in here?" he asked dreadfully and the woman finally looked at him.
But instead of greeting him or answering his question, her look turned to one of fury and suspicion. "Who are you? What have you done to my husband?"
Eric blinked, dumbfounded. "Mom, it's me. Eric. Your son."
"Son?" She asked, momentarily confused, but the anger returned within seconds. "Liar! I don't have a son. I would know if I had given birth to a child and I'm pretty certain that I haven't! Now who are you? Where is Robert?"
Eric closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. He had dreaded the day his mother wouldn't recognize them anymore for the first time. She had progressively lost memories of more recent years in the last weeks and months. The name Robert had come up a lot during that time.
Robert was the name of Erics and Emmas father. He had left them one day in December 1989, just a few days before Christmas and barely a month before Emma was born. Eric had been four at the time and while he still vividly remembered what his father looked like he had no real recollection of his persona. He couldn't remember any outstanding events that tied back to his father and therefore Eric didn't really feel an emotional connection to Robert. What he did know was that his mother had loved him very much and had been devastated when he left to a degree that she was barely able to hold it together for him and his still unborn sister. Katherine, a coworker and close friend of his mothers', had moved in with them and had helped as much as she could in order to hold the family together and Eric still couldn't thank the woman enough for it.
The teen took another steadying breath and explained, "Dad left us a long time ago. Don't you remember?" He took a few steps into the bedroom, mindful of the clutter on the floor.
If it was even possible her eyes turned even darker. "No I don't. Robert would never leave me! Whoever the hell you are Robert is not your dad so stop calling him that!" Eric blinked and took another step forward. "And don't you dare come any closer, young man!" His mother was in full-blown hysterics now.
Eric hesitated and held up his hands in a calming manner. He stayed rooted to the spot as not to enrage her even more. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Robert is my dad. And you are my mom," he explained to her, keeping his voice calm and quiet while feeling anything but. Eric took another three steps towards the agitated woman, keeping his eyes steadily on her so he would be able to detect any rash movement.
"No! Liar!" she roared and lashed out at him all of a sudden. Eric wasn't surprised by the action. In fact he had been expecting it to some degree. But even though he took an instinctive step back as soon as her hand shot out he was still close enough for her open hand to connect with his left cheekbone. In the same instant he accidently stepped on one of the scattered objects and lost his balance. He yelped as he twisted his ankle and landed in a heap on the floor, but adrenaline prevented him from registering the pain. Eric was sure that he would feel it later.
"Eric!" a shocked shriek came from the doorway and the teenager turned his head to see Emma standing there, hand covering her mouth. Obviously she had witnessed the incident. He groaned. She wasn't supposed to come up here and see that, but curiosity must have gotten the better of her.
He pushed himself up from the floor and steadied himself on the bed frame when his right ankle protested against the physical strain. Ignoring his sister for now he turned back to his mother who seemed to have sobered up upon realizing what she had done and now dropped onto the bed, shoulders sagging as the tension left her body. Eric hobbled carefully around the edge of the bed and sat down next to her.
"Mom?" he asked her with a shaky breath.
The middle-aged woman turned to look at him, her eyes full of confusion. She still didn't seem to recognize him and it broke his heart to see her trying to remember something that clearly wasn't graspable to her anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you, young man. But I don't know who you are. I don't have a son", she said and her voice sounded small, almost childlike. She seemed genuinely sorry if her slumped frame and her pleading look were anything to go by.
Swallowing the lump forming in his throat Eric wrecked his brain how to tackle this problem. He had been reading a lot about Alzheimer's over the past years, ever since the diagnosis was made really. He remembered a technique often used in dealing with the patients and hoped the approach would get him somewhere. Telling the truth obviously wasn't going to work so maybe rolling with what his mother gave him was a better choice.
"I believe you," he started and carefully laid a hand on his mother's forearm. He suppressed the shudder the obvious lie evoked in him. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Eric. And this," he turned around and pointed at Emma, encouraging her to come a bit closer, "this is Emma. She's my sister."
Emma hesitantly approached them and came to a stop a few feet away, arms protectively in front of her belly and hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Hi."
Mrs. Beale studied her closely. She took in the wavy blonde hair that reached down to her elbows and the pale immaculate facial features that could only belong to an innocent child. She smiled at Emma, her eyes sparkling with something like the recognition of a lost memory. "You are a beautiful girl, Emma. How old are you?"
Emma blushed and smiled shyly. She felt overwhelmed with the situation and didn't really know what to say or do, so she turned to her brother for support. Eric sensed her discomfort and took over. "She just turned twelve. Her birthday was on January 15," he elaborated, hopeful that the mentioned date would trigger something in his mothers' brain. Judging by the way her face lit up she did remember something.
Mrs. Beale smiled. "My little princess was born on the same day. She's younger, but she looks a lot like you. Eric's heart leapt in his chest and he exchanged a quick look with Emma, who looked equally as stunned. She obviously had the age wrong but at least she remembered having kids. It was a small progress, but progress nonetheless.
Fueled by the little success, Eric asked, "Do you remember her name?" Emma stole a sideway glance at him.
The woman's lighthearted chuckle surprised them both. "Of course I remember her name, young man. She's my daughter after all!" She gave them a warm smile, one of a kind they rarely got to see any more these days. Eric relished the moment and mirrored the smile.
"So, what is it? Her name, I mean," he asked.
"It is funny actually. Her name is Emma, just like yours," Mrs. Beale directed her answer to Emma, who smiled back tentatively. She still couldn't make sense of the whole awkwardness of the situation. Talking to her mother about herself despite her mother not recognizing him? She felt like she was in a twilight zone.
Eric raised his eyebrows at the answer, partially happy that she would remember her daughters' name and partially saddened by the fact that she wasn't able to connect the dots. "That is quite a coincidence."
Mrs. Beale just laughed. "Yes, it is, isn't it? It's funny what life throws at you sometimes." She looked almost philosophical with the faraway look, the slightly narrowed eyes and the small smile playing on her lips.
Eric nodded in agreement. "So where is she right now?"
"She's still in kindergarten and my son is still in school. I have to pick them up soon." Her smile turned into a frown and she glanced around the room as if she was looking for something. Her gaze lingered on the analogue clock hanging on the wall at the far end of the room, but she didn't seem to be able to make sense of it. After a few minutes of trying she gave up with a sigh and turned back to Eric. "Do you know what time it is?"
Eric recognized her problem immediately and supplied her with the answer. "It's 3:30 p.m." His mother hadn't been able to read time for a long time now. He had been taking off all the analogue clocks in the house and replaced them with digital ones, but apparently he had missed the one in his mother's bedroom. He made a mental note to catch up on the mistake later.
The middle-aged woman stood up and seemed in a hurry all of a sudden. "Oh, heavens! I really have to get going then. Traffic is a bitch at this time of day." She was talking to herself mostly as she traversed through the scattered objects on the floor. "I'll have to leave the cleaning until later," she muttered to herself and ran a hand through her hair. "Robert won't be pleased, he doesn't appreciate chaos. Oh, well, I can't do much about it now. I have to go."
Eric and Emma watched her depart, both too marveled by the sudden frenzy. She seemed to completely have forgotten about their presence and just fled the room making a hasty retreat to the lower level of the house. Eric was torn between following her and letting her leave. Chances were high that she wouldn't even know where she wanted to go once she left the house. So he just stayed put and let her leave. He wasn't sure if he'd make it down the stairs right now anyways. The adrenaline had left his system by now and his ankle was throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. It definitely wouldn't appreciate any sudden movement.
Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed movement from his sister. She was heading towards the door, determined to follow their mother and stop her. Eric grabbed her hand and held her back, though. "Don't," he offered and shook his head to reinforce his statement. Emma gave him a confused look. "Just let her go. She won't leave."
Emma still wasn't convinced but remained where she was. This was all too bizarre to wrap her head around and she honestly didn't know if what had happened was even real or just a dream. After a while she looked at him questioningly. "She wants to pick us up from school but she won't find us there. What if she does leave?"
"She won't. Trust me," he reinsured her and offered a small smile which she didn't reciprocate.
"What is that even supposed to mean?" Emma threw her hands up in the air frustrated and then let them fall back to her side in surrender.
"Just wait." And she waited. They heard the thud of the front door closing and another minute or so later there was a jiggle of keys being entered into the lock and the door opened again, followed by footsteps in the hall. Erics' mouth twitched into a half-smile and he looked at Emma. "See?"
She opened her mouth in disbelief. "How did you know that?" she asked. He just shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know. Intuition, I guess?" He squirmed a little under her scrutinizing gaze. Truth was, while he couldn't predict their mother's every move he knew that she wasn't able to hold a thought for long. Usually she forgot about the easiest tasks in a blink of an eye. She would get frustrated about it and then forget about why she was frustrated in the first place. Eric was sure that Emma had noticed these things as well but she was still a few years younger and couldn't make sense of it. And most of the time Eric shielded her from the worst episode, trying to keep their everyday life as normal as he possibly could. So Emma didn't really know all about their mothers' problems and Eric wanted to keep it this way for as long as possible.
Emma, upon realizing that her brother wouldn't elaborate on further explanations, shrugged her shoulders and left the room, leaving Eric to ponder on what had happened.
It was late at night the same day going on 11 p.m. that Eric was finally able to go upstairs to his room and get off his feet for once. He had made sure that his mother had gone to bed and changed into pajamas beforehand, had cleaned the dishes and loaded the washing machine before he headed upstairs. He had considered grabbing a quick shower before going to bed but having been on his feet for the better part of the afternoon and evening his ankle had finally given out under him and he couldn't bring himself to put weight on it for any longer than necessary. So he had just grabbed two icepacks from the freezer and an elastic bandage from the first aid kit and taken them to his room.
So here he found himself finally lying down on his bed, ankle propped up on a cushion and one of the icepacks placed on the rapidly swelling joint, and let his head fall back on the pillow, closing his eyes briefly against the persistent throbbing.
That was how Emma found him a few minutes later. "Does it hurt?"
Eric started at the unexpected question and opened his eyes to look at his late night visitor. He rubbed a hand over his face, wincing as he brushed over his tender cheek. He assumed it was slightly swollen as well and he would probably sport a bruise tomorrow morning but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Like a bitch," he admitted, too tired to hide his discomfort from Emma.
His sister winced in sympathy and scrunched up her face. "I can only imagine," she said, frowned and then answered in an afterthought, "Don't really want to, though."
"Can't blame you," Eric chuckled and sat up, making room for her on his bed. She took this as an invitation and sat down next to him. "Why aren't you sleeping?" Eric asked her once she made herself comfortable.
She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep, I guess." He bit his lip and waited for her to continue. "I can't stop thinking about mom. I'm creeped out about what happened earlier." Her voice was shaking a little.
Eric laid a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Yeah, it was a bit scary," he agreed.
"I mean, we are her children. She should be able to remember us right? We are like the only constant in her life. How could she forget about us?" Emma was worked up over this and Eric couldn't blame her for trying to make sense of something that simply didn't make any sense.
He wanted to make her feel better but he didn't really know what he could say to ease her mind off of the events, so he gave her the only answer that he knew wasn't a lie. "It doesn't work that way with Alzheimer's." It was a far cry from comfort, but at least it was true.
"Why not? I just don't get it. I mean… one moment she didn't know she had kids at all, the next she knows she has kids, even knows our names and birthdays but still doesn't recognize us as them. And at dinner it was as if nothing ever happened. How is that even possible?" Eric could feel the tension in her shoulders and he tried to ease it away by massaging the muscles.
"I don't know, Emma," he admitted defeated.
"So what do we do?"
Eric shrugged. "There's nothing much we can do except stand by her." His voice was calm and steady and he was shocked that he was able to keep it together for Emma despite feeling helpless and overwhelmed with the situation. No matter how much you read about the disease, nothing and no one could prepare you for the emotional rollercoaster.
"Will it get worse? Will she one day not remember us at all, anymore? What if it does? What are we going to do then?" Emma sounded desperate now and on the verge of tears. Erics' heart ached for her.
He drew a shaky breath. He had to be honest with her. "I hate to say this, Emma, but it will get worse. The day will come when she doesn't recognize us at all anymore." He felt her breath hitched beside him and he drew her even closer, hugging her tightly. "But we shouldn't worry about that now, Emmy. We'll figure it out when the time comes. It won't do us any good to stress ourselves out over something like it now. We can't prevent it from happening either way."
"That's not very reassuring," Emma replied in a small, devastated voice and buried her head in his shoulder.
"No, it's not," he whispered. "No it's not."
They sat like that for a long time, drawing strength from each other, until a while later Emma disentangled herself from his embrace. She pulled a strand of her behind her ear. "By the way, that was pretty epic what you did earlier. The way you got mom to talk? It was kind of awesome. And it worked. How did you know to do that?"
Eric shrugged the praise off and felt himself blushing. "I don't know. I didn't know what I was doing, I just did. I guess I'm lucky it worked to some degree." He shifted on his bed, mindful not to jostle his ankle. He didn't really feel like he did something special. He'd reacted on pure instinct and he counted himself lucky that it worked, but it wasn't a given that it would work every time. And Eric wasn't sure he'd be able to think this quick on his feet every single time.
"It worked to some degree? Geez, you gotta give yourself a lot more credit than that!" Emma exclaimed and threw him an incredulous look. Eric blushed even more and a wide grin spread out on his sisters lips. "Are you blushing, brother?"
Eric became defensive. "No, I'm not."
"You are! Eric, that's so cute! I'm so gonna tell Amanda!" She laughed heartily and Eric couldn't help but join in. It felt good to laugh and it helped them both get their mind off of todays' events. He just hoped it would help them face the obstacles that were waiting for them in the future.
For those who don't know, the technique Eric is using with his mother is called integral validation. I learned this in a seminar in nursing school and I used the method quite often while working stationary. Even though success isn't a given it does help calm people with Alheimer's in most situation if used correctly.
- S.