Dusk by Johanna Francisco

The old woman sat still and serene on the large sage green armchair situated by the window. The sitting room where she sat was painted in soft muted yellow-ochre tones. It was a small comfortable room peppered with family photographs. The afternoon rays of the Indian summer sun streamed through the window, at its brightest now before its setting. Cool playful breeze danced with the veil of ivory lace curtains. It was perfect weather. Seven decades of diligent living earned her the right to rest and bask in this idyllic moment.

With her eyes closed, she did not feel the coolness of the breeze. Instead, she felt the heat of a scorching faraway sun. Outside, from across a nearby park, she did not hear the shrieks and laughter of children playing. Instead, she heard the sound of waves as they kissed the shore of a white-sanded beach near another home from another time.

She was six again. Happy. Vibrant. Curious. She felt the contentment of the child that she was. She could see her chubby little arms outstretched and making circles in the air as she ran down the length of the beach. She laughed the carefree laugh of an innocent just before experiencing the hard lessons of life. She traced and left marks on that immaculate sand of long ago.

They were happy times and she remembered them well. It was more than can can be said of her recollection of what had transpired within the last hour, or even the last few minutes. She got easily confused these days. Events overlapped each other and became one big blur. She would like to cry in frustration if only she knew how. Most days, she willed herself to be still, to simply be. Sometimes, blankness crept in, other times memories paraded endlessly. Of course, she preferred the latter. The memories were always pleasant and gave her comfort.

At the doorway, a slim figure stood and watched, struck by tranquility of the scene before her. She was the youngest of the old woman's three daughters. She watched her mother with both love and pain. She thought her mother had dozed off. She wanted to see if the older woman was up for an afternoon tea. Maybe later, she thought to herself.

She crossed the room to retrieve a chenille blanket from the adjacent loveseat. She tucked it around her mother's lap. She gently stroked the soft gray hair that managed to look perpetually styled artfully in place. The daughter planted a kiss on her mother's forehead. She waited a minute to see if she would wake. The old woman's eyes remained close, her back against the chair and her hands now folded on her lap. With a sigh, the daughter retreated back to the kitchen to have a cup of tea by herself.

At 40, the daughter marveled at their situation. It was strange to find everything so reversed. She was the caregiver of the woman who had nurtured her and her two sisters. The woman whom she had looked up to and turned to for every need and support was now dependent on her. Her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's five years ago. But it was only within the last few months that her situation had gone from bad to worse.

For the better part of the last five years, she, her sisters and a hired caregiver took turns looking after their mother's daily needs. At first, their mother had protested. She was an independent woman who was widowed at an early age and took care of her three young daughters on her own. She found it hard to comprehend why she would need any looking after.

And the disease was treacherous. It seemed long in coming to set its destruction. But once it did, it was as if there were no warnings given at all. She had done her research and knew of the process of calcification taking place in their mother's brain. No matter how much information was gathered, it was hard to reconcile the clinical findings with the reality of what was happening.

In the last couple of months the old woman was more frequently weaving in and out of lucid reality. She would ask of family and friends when they are not there. But when they come to visit, she did not recognize them. At least for now, the old woman still recognized her youngest daughter.

The phone on the kitchen wall rang intrusively and startled the daughter out of her rumination. The eldest sibling was on the other end.

"Hi, how's Mom doing today?"

"Good. Good. She's resting in her favorite chair."

Behind the casual spiel, there were a thousand other things they wanted to say to each other: like their fear of losing their mother, their fear of aging, of being alone, fear of events that will irrevocably change their lives. They hold on to the every day familiar things and every day routine, not wanting to think beyond their real significance.

A long silence followed. There was one topic both were not willing to discuss.

The eldest daughter spoke first. "We have to think about what is best for Mom."

"I know."

"The decisions do not need to be made today. But soon."

"I know. I know."

"Well, give Mom a hug and kiss for me. I'll be over tomorrow."

"Yes, take care. Bye."

Much has to be decided. But for now, in this moment, the old woman will not be uprooted from the home she had built with the man she had loved.

In the sitting room, the old woman began to stir. She heard the calm soothing voice of her youngest daughter as she had talked on the phone. And then, she saw a young man smiling at her. She recognized him and smiled back. He looked as he always did when he teased her. She wanted to ask him where he had been; what had taken him so long; why had he left her so early on in their life. He had been so young, only 47. They were supposed to grow old together. She did not mind the struggle to raise three young children. The sacrifices were inconsequential. But, oh, how she missed him.

The old woman was not sure if what she saw was real. She began to reach out her hand to him. Have you come back for me? she wanted to ask. Then she felt the warmth of his hand encompassing her smaller one. He was leading her to up to the altar. There was a priest waiting. How could she have forgotten it was their wedding day? They made their vows and he kissed her ever so tenderly. Then they walked down the aisle to head out the church door. She sensed that he was walking much faster than she was. She could not keep up. "Sweetheart, wait!" In a flash, he was gone.

The daughter heard her mother cry out. Within seconds she was at her side. She could see her mother almost in a panic. What could have upset her so? She picked up the overthrown blanket and placed it back on her lap. Dusk had settled in and the room was somewhat dark. The daughter turned on the lamp that was on the cherry oak endtable beside her mother. Perhaps the fading light was what had frightened her. She sat on one arm of the chair and gathered the older woman in a tight embrace.

The daughter felt a strength burgeoning from within. She could slay any dragons and monsters that frightened her mother. She held on to the woman who brought her into this world like a lifesaving rock. Security crept in for both. The unknown was indeed frightening. But for now, they had a slight reprieve. It felt like a little slice of heaven and they knew peace.

*Revised version of submitted short story to a Creative Fiction Writing Class 7/05. I had some problems with the point of view aspect of this short story. The original one was confusing which seemingly had three or more conflicting povs. The original intent was simply two...from the mother and the daughter. The feel of an alzheimer patient's drifting in and out of reality was also attempted. Comment if you will, if this style worked. I'd greatly appreciate it...JSF