Lost in a world of silence

Penning the narrative of my life I share the stories that stir my soul, those fragmented pieces arriving in waves as the frailty of the mind unravels...

Settling nervously in the waiting room, I notice the fear collecting in her eyes as she shudders away from the pen. My thoughts vacillate, querying the things she can no longer do while I dislodge the pen from the chair and inscribe the necessary information. 

This thread of her existence unravels and I fumble with denial cradling my thoughts. Each lapse arrives with a shock as the simplest tasks are now so foreign, and another door closes in the rooms of her mind.

In the hopes of rekindling a passion that once brought her joy, I guide her hand across the dish with the heavy brush. Slowly she covers the piece with a copious swell of paint that drips like a child's melting ice cream. I pause to help, but within this glossy state she seems content and I let her be.

Lost in a world of silence I repeat each story until I too disappear in the cycle. Unsure of her ability to communicate, in an attempt to disguise the illness, I order her meals and answer questions to avoid any inquiry that grips her confused gaze, even if only for myself.

Her stories are fragments pulled from a far away place, a mishmash of words only she understands, leaving a faint light that glistens in her eyes when she witnesses my arrival. Eventually, the silence returns as it envelopes her mind again taking her further into the unknown, holding onto stories we will never know.

Protecting my heart by concealing her inabilities during our time together creates a semblance of normal. But within this steadily changing disease, I know normal no longer exists. Fresh tears swell as I witness each piece fall away, too stubborn to recognize what is now a reality I close my eyes to escape, even if just for a bit...