Sativa.

33. Terminal

Sometimes Blaine wonders if death is empty. The older she gets the less she believes in a profound paradise offering everlasting bliss. Always a niggle in the back of her mind only strengthened in conviction as she fell more ill.

When her medication stops working she feels it -- what death might be. A person is given only one body, one form, and once that body fails to function the essence of who someone is remains trapped. A vibrant being stuck in a flesh that won't ever wake up again.

The belief, while morbid, is parallel to all the other harsh realities of life. Why should death be exempt?

There was a time when Blaine was an optimist. As long as she could stay ahead of the faltering of her own mind she could survive just about anything. Somewhere along the way she fell behind. Dementia worsened to the point she's unable to remember if and when Travis would even come home in the evenings.

These frequent instances of forgetfulness leads to neglecting to take her pills worsening the symptom. It's like her mind is a yawning void that swallows her up into endless blank space.

Now Blaine doesn't wonder why her brother made an attempt on his life. It's difficult to find joy in living when she struggles to remember what day it is or how to properly hold a spoon to eat a bowl of cereal.

This past month she's been spiraling down the drain. It's pitiful how a year of treatment can falter in mere weeks.

When Blaine walks through the front door Friday afternoon, her purse slips through thick fingers and thumps on the floor. Although the noise is slight Travis immediately pauses his video game. Leaning over the back of the couch, he reaches out for her curling his arm around her waist to pull her close.

"Jesus, Blaine, I was so worried about you."

A hollow numbness makes her as unresponsive as a coma patient. Even as he tangles his fingers through her hair to tilt his face against the crook of her neck. Blaine stares straight ahead vacantly. She's a prisoner of her own body, unable to lift her own arms, and instead stiffening at his touch like she's been poisoned.

When Travis releases his intense embrace he looks at her with eyes wide and wild with concern. "Where were you?"

Today is so cataclysmic Blaine is certain she's lost her ability to speak. Her reply is a faded whisper, "I went to the Doctor today."

If anything his expression somehow sinks lower. A frown raises worried wrinkles across his forehead as deep as canyons. "What did they say?"

Having to relive the appointment is enough to make her cave in on herself and she melts into a puddle of tears. "I'm not pregnant, Travis."

When he tries to pull her into another hug she darts a step back, nearly tipping over on her unsteady legs. She doesn't have the heart to tell him what else she learned. That the medication has been failing for the past month and her memory may never go back to normal. It's why she ignored all his incoming calls and didn't say a word to Tina on the way back home.

The prognosis has pummeled into Blaine with as much force as an eighteen wheeler. Her muscles refuse to work properly, she's unsteady as she kneels down to pick up her purse. The weight of a bag carrying only a cell phone and makeup feels as heavy as a sack of bricks.

Despite how much effort it takes to walk she makes it into the kitchen. Ignoring the shaking of her hands, agonizingly constant, she sets out hamburger for dinner. Travis turns off the Tv and she starts cracking eggs into a bowl while biting back the tears blurring in her eyes.

"I was going to make supper tonight." Travis says, joining her in the kitchen.

"I've got it."

"Let me at least help."