He walks through the fields of flowers, lost in the kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. He has always loved flowers, with no explanations or reasons. The joy he feels while observing their beauty has been within him for as long as he could remember.
Unfortunately, he isn’t very skilled at growing them. Yet here he is, walking through the blossoms that calm the unrest he often experiences in his days. The hues and scents draw the multicolored butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds. He isn’t alone in his love and appreciation of such natural beauty.
But he is alone. He likes to walk here because this is where she meets him. When the hot summer breeze blows across his face, he feels her kisses on his cheek. He holds his hand at a peculiar angle, straining to gently squeeze her hand in his. With eyes squinted he can almost see her. Almost.
A light sweat begins to form on his brow as he wanders farther into the garden, among the sunflowers that are almost face to face with him. Bright and joyful, he smiles weakly as they intrude into his memories.
The sunflowers remind him of the energy he once possessed. When he was younger, it never occurred to him that a gentle outing like this might be the only exercise he could endure. Maybe seeing the brilliant colors and vivid green of the undergrowth could transfer some new life to his own spirit, if not his body. Or maybe that was too much to hope for.
He sat down on a bench near some roses and thought once again of the woman who walked with him through the flowers. He tries so hard to remember, but the memories escape him.
He hears a voice calling out to him. When he turns, she is smiling and sits down beside him.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she says. He agrees and returns her smile.
“Are you ready to get some rest? You’ve been out here a while and I can see you are tired.” Her compassion and warmth give him a peaceful serenity that he appreciates.
He agrees to stroll with her as she talks about the things she always talks about. He asks her, “What was her name? I’ve been trying to remember but it just won’t come to me.”
She tells him the name of his love once more, knowing she will tell him again this evening. And again tomorrow. She doesn’t mind. She helps him into his recliner and removes his shoes. It’s her job to make sure he rests, but she genuinely cares for him. He sighs and is grateful for the comfort of this moment.
As he drifts into slumber, he walks through the fields of flowers, lost in the kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. Here is where she meets him once again. And he knows her name.
Nice story...so true of Alzheimer's! I used to care for some when a CNA. But at end of shift...I go home. When it is people you love, family, so much different. There is no "going home". Sorry if this was not your thoughts; but its how I saw the story. Good Job John!
A tender way to portrait this story; and the setting just added more beauty.