Cerise Harvey is a twenty-three year old hopeless romantic and over achiever, following closely in the shadows of her father, Michael Harvey- top criminal defense attorney of New York, legacy. With big shoes to fill, she's always gone above and beyo...
"Carl honey, please— please stop!" Lorraine shouted, tears welling in her withered eyes as she watched her disheveled husband trash their living room— confused. She flinched hard, the sound of porcelain shattering on the ground and startling her as Carl smashed a vase.
"Mom just let him— I'll clean it up," Brandon assured in a gentle tone trying to console his mother.
It seemed as if his father was beginning to have more bad days than good as his Alzheimer's slowly continued to eat away at his mind like a flesh eating parasite, chipping away at his personality and erasing his memories. Carl's days were now full of confusion and rage, lashing out on his loving wife and displaying violent behaviors, destroying things as a way to express himself and communicate. This however, was the worst outburst he'd had thus far. Lorraine was usually able to calm her husband down but this time she had to call her son for help because she couldn't do it alone.
Brandon clenched his jaw tightly as he glanced down at his mother who sobbed quietly beside him, tucking his hands into his designer slacks— not showing an ounce of emotion. He'd said goodbye to his father years ago, when his father was still his father— when his father still recognized him. His mother however had been holding onto hope all these years and that's why it was becoming harder for her to come to terms with as his disease progressed and got worse.
Carl had woken up confused today as he did most days, except today, he'd forgotten the face of the woman he'd spent the past fifty years with— the love of his life, his wife.
They watched as he eventually got tired of trashing the living room, shuffling through the mess in his house slippers and plopping down into his recliner as if nothing happened.
"It's time— we're not doing this anymore," Brandon said lowly, authority in his tone yet he couldn't stomach to look over at his mother and see the pain and strain on her face.
Alzheimer's wasn't just killing Carl slowly, it was killing Lorraine slowly too watching her husband die a little more each day.
"No— don't you dare," Lorraine hissed, glaring at her son with a look so sharp it could slice. "He's staying right here with me— do you understand me?"
"This is not up for debate. I'm putting him in a home, you can not take care of him by yourself anymore— look at this," Brandon said, pointing to the mess his father made of their home. "What if he hurt you on accident mom?"
Lorraine's bottom lip trembled as she stared at the back of her husbands head where he sat quietly in his recliner. They'd had this conversation before, her and Brandon— of putting Carl into a home that can provide adequate and proper care for him. Brandon assured his mother he'd seek out the best of the best for his father, no matter the cost, but Lorraine refused. She was desperately trying to hold onto anything left of Carl, but the only thing left is his physical form as his mind was far too gone now.
"Just go," Lorraine muttered tearfully, wiping her eyes with a soggy tissue. "Just go— I've got it,"
Brandon exhaled sharply through his nose, standing his ground against his five foot two mother.
"Just go you hear me? Get out!" She shouted, throwing the balled up tissue at him. "Get out!"
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