There are some walks you don’t want to take. This is Jason’s.
Mama smiles. “Lovely. Look at the water. Where are we?”
“Your new home. On the bay,” Jason says looking at his angry brother who’d later say: “It wasn’t my decision.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she says. “And who are you, dear?”
Jason swallows hard. “Jason.”
She tries his name on. “A nice name.”
He remembers how her forefinger stabbed Mr. Springer’s chest. “Jason is a good boy.” Her fierceness echoed in every syllable, her blue eyes were fiery cold.
Her fingers clutch his and tremble. “I’m frightened.”
52 thoughts on “The Walk”
OMG I want to cry. How incredibly touching is this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you. You’re very kind! 🙂
NO, thank YOU. That was eloquent, beautiful and touching!
Beautiful and heart wrenching
Thank you so much, Sheena! 🙂
So sad for them all.
Thank you. 🙂
You did that perfectly. Captured character’s emotions and the situation without ever putting it into words. Well done!
Thank you so much, Sandra!
Cleverly done, Sascha
Thank you, Neil.
Desperately sad story, very well done.
Thank you, Jilly.
A sad way for a life to end.
I think you’re right, Iain!. Thanks for reading.
I read this twice. This is my husband’s story. His mother doesn’t remember any of her children. We visit her shell but it’s heart breaking. The contrast between Jason’s memory of his mother and the present reality is well written and beyond touching. Well done.
Thank you, Rochelle. I am sorry for all who have to go through this.
Mum couldn’t remember me on the phone, and it took a while for me to register when we visited. She would always smile politely but you could see her trying to work it out. I’d always hug her, tell her I loved her and then she’d remember.
I can’t even imagine how that must have been.
It was some considerable time before I was told Mum had dementia. Living so far away, I could only write as visits were few and far between (not by choice), knowing I would never get a response. I wrote at least once, usually twice, a week and when she was in the care home, I’d ring, though it was difficult for both of us. I did speak to her in hospital the Monday before she died, and she knew who I was. I told her I loved her, and she said she loved me. I couldn’t ask for anything better.
I am always in awe of how you can say so much with so few words. This is beautifully haunting and terrifying.
thank you so much. 🙂
You’ve written this beautifully. I’m particularly impressed by “looking at his angry brother who’d later say: “It wasn’t my decision.”” – twelve words which tell us all we need to know about what happens after the end of your text.
Your story is very moving. Well done!
Thank you so much, Penny! I appreciate that comment.
Touchingly sad. Brutally terrifying.
Thank you so much, Susan!
Very moving story. Short and still heartstopping.
Thank you so much, Anne!
Your story moved me. It’s hard to see parents growing old and senile.
I agree. I’ve seen it and there is not much sadder.
Expertly, painfully written, Sascha.
Sadly more and more of us have seen our parents go through this, and wonder when it will be ourselves.
Thank you, CE. I very much appreciate “expertly”. I know it’s not a given. My mum lived to 80 was was fully cognizant. She was a reader and did puzzles. All in our corner, I think.
Excellent piece, i’ve seen it in my friends folks and I get the feeling its coming to my folks, desperately sad but really well written.
Thank you so much! 🙂
I worry when this will be my mother’s story, all her memories like fragments. in those few lines you encompassed how a life time can be erased just like that.
Thank you, Gina. I don’t believe that this is necessarily the way of age. My mum was cognizant until her death at 80. I hope to live as long and be mindful.
A lovely reminder of how age can be so destructive to our minds.
Yep. gotta keep the mind young and active.
sad story that you handled with grace. well done.
Thank you so much! 🙂
The memories of his once strong mother compared to her frightened self now is just heart breaking. Stories like these remind us of our own mortality and frailty. In a good way.
Thank you, Fatima. That’s just what I was hoping the bit would show.
Very touching story.
Oh I know this all too well… at the end of the day there is only one direction on that one-way street.
Thank you, Bjorn!
I love the strength in her finger and fiery eyes. A mother’s love at its best. Then the sadness of losing that strength. Ouch! In a good way. Well done, my dear.
Thank you so much, Alicia! 🙂
Oh, Sascha. It took me a while to finally get to your post, and it IS very much like mine in tone and emotion. Great minds, as they say 🙂 Nicely done. I always enjoy what you write.
Thank you, Linda. We will see if there will be mind meld again tomorrow. 🙂
I have seen to closely how dementia robs people of their power, your story hit home. Well told Sascha
Thank you so much, Michael!