Forgetting 

They all wait patiently as he finishes his supper. He does not know who they are anymore. The children hear whispers of conversions and wonder what is wrong. Late at night they hear talk. “He is not getting better. Time is almost up.” 

Day by day they go through the same routine. Doctor appointment after doctor appointment. The weeks pass by.

*****

She had to lead him to his room last night. He did not recognize her but he felt safe enough to take her hand. Slowly they walked to his room, each step a struggle. The gasping of the oxygen tank rattles eerily throughout the house.

He is happy and tells the children stories about his childhood. They have no idea what is to come. 

The next day he is nowhere to be found. The children are worried but the adults are calm. “He is in the hospital,” they tell the children.

*****

It is a Wednesday night. The children are drawing pictures to decorate the room. The adults tell them to hurry up because they will take the pictures to him. One of the children does not finish. She said that she will finish it and give it to him later. (It is one of her regrets.)

*****

The next morning the children wake up to exciting news. They can stay home. The children are overjoyed, saying “best day ever.” 

Little did they know of what was to come.

It was dreary that Thursday morning, a sense of dread which resonated deep within her stomach. It was around lunch time when the adults came home. By then the sun was shining. It was beautiful. They gathered the children in the room.

He was gone.