A Fight to Remember

Hot Beverages and Conversations

A/N Thanks everyone who read, voted, and commented!

March 7 2034

Bailey

The morning was still dark, the sky slowly becoming lighter in the east as the sun crept across the horizon. I was outside on the deck in my sweats, contemplating going for a run. Most people would have been devasted by the news that their mother had Alzheimers, and I was... but I also felt detached, like I was floating above the situation, observing it like a biologist on a safari. I thought I should feel more, cry more, or something. But it wasn't there.

I heard the latch on the screen door open and turned to see my mother, still in her pajamas, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. I took the mug she offered and the two of us stood in silence watching the sky.

Mom sized me up, noticing the McBroody look on my face, she cleared her throat, "when my mother told me she had Alzheimers I was hungover in Amsterdam," she said.

"What did you do?" I asked

"I finished the bottle of tequila, left a note for Sadie and jumped on the first plane home," she sipped her coffee. "When I got to Boston my mother didn't even discuss things with me. She already made arrangements for everything. She dropped most of her money into my account and generally acted like nothing happened."

"And then you went to Dartmouth."

Mom nodded and took a slow sip of her coffee. "Before I came home from Europe, I didn't know what I wanted. I was stuck. Did I want to be surgical royalty? Did I want something else? And what would that be? After her diagnosis, I thought...maybe, if I do this, go to medical school, become a surgeon, I could be closer to her... I don't know... understand her better or something."

"And did you? Understand her?"

"In some ways, I do, yeah. Other things I still wonder about... she was a complicated woman." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "I know this is hard for you."

"It's not like it was a huge surprise... you joked about it a lot."

"I know. But Bailey, what's going on in that brain of yours?"

I sighed. "I don't know, am I supposed to feel more? Like cry about it? Be angry or something?"

"However you feel is fine... it's okay."

I mulled it over, debating if I should reveal my inner thoughts to my mother. But then I realized that it wouldn't be long before we lost these conversations. "I feel...detached. Like it's not really happening to me. Like you're a patient, not my mother, and I don't like that I feel that."

Mom sighed, she almost sounded relieved. "That's not so bad..."

"It's not?"

"No. It means that you're processing it. That's good. You have to just process it."

"I'm processing..." I murmured as I mulled over this revelation.

"Alzheimers isn't like any other disease. There's nothing definitive. There's no percentages... no extensive treatment plans or teams of doctors. There's no miracle surgeries. It's a day by day thing, and pretty soon you just learn to live in the moment and accept whatever good you can get out of it... at least that's what I keep telling myself."

I realized that mom and I felt the same way... detached. She was processing too.

The sun was now just starting to peak over the hills, and the sky was turning pink. Mom picked up her mug, "I've got to go to the hospital today, tie up loose ends and stuff." She leaned her head on my shoulder for a minute. "In a few years, when I'm not myself... remember that I love you, Bailey... more than you will ever know."