I should not have played those old cassette tapes I uncovered.
After Melinda passed away, I inherited the house. I knew my way in and out with this thick, beautiful cottage in the woods with the outstanding personality – I had spent much of my life here, learning about the land and helping Mindy whenever possible. She hadn't wanted much help when she was alive, but her forgetfulness kept her from doing the things she loved most and I watched her fade away into a person I barely even knew.
When the Alzheimer's was at its worst, she retreated to her bedroom a lot where she would spend a lot of time doing the things she loved most, if she could remember. Her knitting and crochet were failing; little snippets of things she worked on would stay snippets instead of becoming beautiful blankets or sweaters for the great grandkids. She looked helpless and I knew she felt helpless as well, but there was little I could do for her than be there for moral support.
When Mindy was gone, I left her stuff exactly where it belonged. It felt like she had never really left. Many mornings I woke up, stretched, and walked down the hall to the lack in the smell of her typical breakfast, went in the kitchen to check on her, only to realize that she had never made it back.
She was gone. So I'd pour a bowl of my plain old cereal again and I'd sit there and think about how much sweeter breakfast would be if she were sitting across the table from me, ranting and raving about things she heard on the news channel that morning before I even had the thought of waking up. Mindy had always been on it. How was I supposed to live without her constantly guiding me in the right direction?
It wasn't until she had been gone for quite some time that I faced my demons and realized that there was no way my Mindy was coming back. And that holding onto things, keeping them precisely as they were, wasn't healthy. A thin layer of dust was holding onto everything in her bedroom, as it had been left untouched for the good year that she no longer inhabited the room.
I took that old Swiffer that she used to use for everything in God's creation and started dusting the room in entirety, being careful not to mess up her salt and pepper shaker collection or the multiple ceramic cats she had sitting around to keep her company. I ransacked her desk, making sure to move and then replace all the short stories and poems she had written right where they belonged. I moved onto the drawers, pulling each one out carefully. They all sat open as I stared in shock and amazement.
There were dozens and dozens of tapes inside each of the drawers, each labeled with a corresponding number in an order that was easy to pick up on. Mindy had a tape recorder, but all these tapes? When did she find the time? Had she unknowingly recorded herself in her later years, reading poems to herself for sake of holding onto the memories of the wonderful pieces and excerpts she wrote? But I had never heard her in this lonely room.
She had to have found the perfect time and just sat for hours, conducting the great things I may find on these tapes. I pulled out the tape recorder in the left top drawer, exactly where I knew she always kept one of her most prized possessions. And I clicked on the first tape, labeled "1."
"I've never done this before," Mindy's never-before-heard tape-recorded voice came through the player and straight into my ears like a humming melody from Heaven itself.
"I guess that's a silly thing to say seeing as I've been writing my entire life, but nobody ever asked me to read any of my work aloud, and I certainly haven't. Maybe it's the way I think I sound on tape." She laughed at herself as if she had committed some crime. She was embarrassed and awkward, withheld, but gorgeous nonetheless. I could picture her lovely face as she spoke, probably blushing.
"My doctor told me that I should start writing things down as to not forget, now that I have the official diagnosis. I don't know how long I'm going to have anymore, because they say it just gets worse from here. The same thing took my father. The Alzheimer's, the living Hell itself. But I'm trying to make the best of my life as I see fit, with the time I have left... anyway, I guess this is a better way to keep notes about my life. Things I can remember later if I come across these tapes in my favorite dresser and ask, What ever could this be? Because by then, I may have forgotten. And it could only be weeks later. They say this is what the disease does, and I'm scared, but I'm not too scared. I was made to brave anything. More until next time... I better be going to get started on supper. Today was particularly normal with no setbacks, so that's always good news, right?"
