Chapter 5
I'm frozen for some time, the avalanche of information burying me under questions.
Despite my sudden paralysis, I am no less determined. I ponder your ponderings. If an angel offered that choice, you would choose a clear-minded me over your recovery.
As the room spins, my worries waltzing through my mind, I stubbornly pursue the train of thought that led me to this book held tightly in my hands in the first place. Despite its plain cover, its pages overflow with secrets.
A gift for your birthday, something you desire more than life itself.
Is there truth in your writing? Are there really holes in my memory?
Looking back on my life, the sheer lack of information I can recall astonishes me.
In a panic, I start at the beginning.
The earliest image my mind can recreate is of rolling hills and the village where I was born. I witnessed such a remarkable view from a bench under a bridge where you could see the entire village from high above, with the sea as the background between two mountains. When I was young, I often sat there for hours, scribbling away in a notebook and letting my wandering mind float between the mountains and over the sea toward the horizon. At five hundred meters above sea level, the sun baked the bustling village, allowing plants to flourish and food to be plentiful. Nights were a blur of music, dancing, laughing and playing, surrounded by smiling faces.
I can see those green hills in my mind as clear as day, hear the lovely music dancing through the dark, and smell the aromas drifting from my mother's tiny kitchen. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with my memory if I can clearly recall such a distant memory.
Trying to remember a more recent memory, I find pieces of one, accompanied by the ache of sadness and growing anticipation.
But why?
I struggle with the slippery memory, but after making another coffee, sitting in silence, and focusing on my breathing to calm my agitated mind, I am able to recall the memory.
In it, I sat at a local cafe in the center of my hometown, a regular meeting place for many of the town folk. A modest church stood across the road from the cafe, which sporadically rang its bell, often causing the unexpected young me to jump in his seat.
This memory remains forever engraved in my heart for a reason. It was the day I bid farewell to my old life in the warm hills of southern Italy and embarked on a long trip by land and sea to the cold flat center of Canada. I sacrificed comfort, familiarity and my cherished home for the opportunity to live a wealthy life. My brother and I voyaged overseas, leaving my mother and baby brother behind. Although this memory is nothing near a teary goodbye, behind my smile was heartache and a nagging fear, which is impossible to avoid when leaving everything one knows for the great unknown. I try to remember the words we said as we bid farewell to one another, but there is only a still photo in my mind of them staring at me from around the cafe's table.
The fact that I cannot recall words spoken fifty years ago proves nothing of my cognitive ability. Who but one with a freakish memory could retrieve such minute details. Nevertheless, I accept I once could recall every word spoken before leaving on that grand adventure.
I'm momentarily annoyed but brush the feeling aside. Time takes all; forgetfulness after fifty years is no reason to make a fuss. Despite the difficulty of this endeavour, you are always on my mind assuring me it is all worth it. You who always stood by my side through the good and the bad. You who always loved me despite my shortcomings.
The struggle is real, but I will fight on. I will give you what you wished for, my love. I will recall every detail of my long life, and you will have what you long for, me as I once was. I will brush out every cobweb, oil every gear and scrape away any rust from this dusty mind.
I walk upstairs, still skeptical of what you wrote concerning my memory. Of course, I'm having trouble reliving memories from decades past. Who wouldn't? That has nothing to do with any disease; rather, it's just a matter of distance from the present. There is nothing wrong with my memory.
I return to the rocking chair. Continuing my recollection, a massive ship sails through my mind. I try to recall anything from my time aboard, but nothing comes to me.
I must be tired, so I head downstairs and make an espresso. Despite my best effort and the little energy boost from my soothing beverage, I only gather minute details. There is the overwhelming claustrophobia and prolonged discomfort, but nothing more. It wasn't a short voyage...there must be something to recall...yet nothing comes to mind. It must have been a dull trip.
Perhaps remembering those long-ago events is difficult because those that didn't involve you are not stories worth remembering. Undoubtedly, it is impossible to forget a moment spent with you.
When did we meet? That's easy but uneventful. After arriving in this unfamiliar land, I rented a bed from your parents, providing me with shelter from the unrelenting winter and a place to hang my hat. Isn't it ironic that the beginning of my long, back-breaking journey that led to our cozy home and happy family was in your family's home? You were there at home base when I started running, and you were there as I rounded third and approached a home of my own.
A house is not a home without you.
These final words repeat in my aching skull, but unlike an echo, they grow louder and louder until I scream to hear anything else. Still, my deafening bellow is not enough to chase away the haunting words.
A house is not a home without you.
Maybe thinking happy thoughts will chase away the words that seem eager to reveal a dreadful secret, some beckoning truth, that will annihilate me if faced.
Our first date. Where was that again?
The day I proposed, when was that again?
A house is not a home without you.
Nothing but that repetitive thought, growing louder as it bounces unimpeded through emptiness, occupies my mind.
Where are those foundational moments on which we built this life?
Where are you?
My unwillingness to comprehend those words also suppresses the memories I desperately search for.
A house is not a home without you.
I bargain with myself, begging my mind to reveal the truth it has hidden away. That truth, once revealed, may explain everything, but my fury defensively returns.
I will not accept a life without you in it.
I refuse.
I grab my espresso cup and hurl it across the table. It soars through the air sending drops of coffee flying this way and that, until it crashes into a picture high on our hutch. It falls to the ground, and the sound of shattering clears my mind.
I grab a broom and a dustpan from the other room. Once the glass and ceramic are swept, I pull some newspaper from the newspaper rack and spread it on the table. I scatter the shards on the center of the newspaper and, more carefully still, wrap the sharp pieces before throwing them into the garbage bin in the garage. I return to the kitchen and inspect the frame for any damage, which I placed on the table before cleaning the debris. First, I examine the edges, then the back, then the front, but luckily, the dark wooden frame is intact. A new sheet of glass and it will be as good as new. What is the closest store that can sell me a replacement?
The familiar face of the girl in the frame stares at me with a friendly smile, but I cannot recall her name. While I vividly remember her staring up at me and yelling, "Nonno," I cannot come up with her name despite every drop of my brain's power being exerted.
Is she my granddaughter?
Of course, she is. Why else would you have a picture of her in your kitchen? Why else would she call you nonno? Unable to recall her name, I decide to try again later and place the frame where it was before my cup struck it.
There are other pictures to the left and right of it, of which some I can put a name to the face, while others I cannot. A young boy to the left catches my eye, and I grab his frame, smiling.
"Davey!" Of course, I know my grandson David. He's the son of... Who are his parents again? I feel immense shame as I accept the significant gaps in my memory.
As loud as ever in my sore noggin, those words return with a vengeance.
A house is not a home without you.
Remember! I will unbury the past for you.
I run to the TV room and approach our large cabinet filled with photo albums. I yank a large green one from the shelf, sit on the couch and read its spine—VACATION 1989. I open it in the center and find a picture of you, me, my brother and a woman sitting around a plastic table on a beach. The setting sun reflects off the clear water behind us, extending a golden path along the calm sea.
This must be Italy, but the unfamiliar landscape doesn't resemble our home country, and the strangers' faces smiling at me look not joyful but mocking, sneering at my forgetfulness.
Damn them all. What need do I have for remembering anyone but you? I thumb through the pages but still have no clue where these were taken as I reach the last.
I toss the album aside, the plastic cover squeaking against the leather couch, and grab an enormous purple album from the shelf below the one that housed the first.
This one is titled Bill's wedding. I drop it on our centre table and, with some effort, kneel beside it. After I've made myself as comfortable as possible, I open the album. Several men in suits stare coolly at the camera, and I recognize every one of them. There's me, my two brothers and my four sons. As I flip through the pages, several moments from the joyous occasion return to me, but even as I laugh, recalling a witty speech given by a family friend after dinner, the night is still so damn blurry. Nevertheless, encouraged by the pieces I have been able to summon, I work through the entire album, reliving as best I can this day long past. After absorbing every memory I can scavenge from the stuffed album, it is certain that my unyielding stubbornness has awoken and planted its feet firmly in the ground.
Despite what seems to be a few missing pages of the story of my life, I now know it's possible to recover what I've lost, return myself to all I was, and give you the gift that will warm your heart and bring tears to your eyes.
I make another coffee, add a little milk so I can down the entire drink, and return to the room where those albums wait to restore me. I spend the next several hours flipping through page after page, each book with a story to tell.
A strange woman enters the room and scolds me for the mess, but I pay her no mind. I have one goal, my gift to you, and not even an earthquake or tornado could distract me from delivering it.
I finish the last album late into the night, the clock under the TV reading three o'clock. Despite the time, I feel no weariness. On the contrary, my mind bursts with merry memories, friendly faces and eventful encounters. Finally feeling complete, exactly what you wished for in the pages of your little blue book, I rush upstairs to wake you from your slumber. To my surprise, our bed is empty, the sheets untouched.
I'm desperate to share the gift I've spent hours bringing to life. To be denied my one desire after so much work is crushing, but I was never one to give up, and there is nothing more vital than completing my mission.
As I reminisce on all that transpired today, I am reminded of the little blue book's final pages. You wrote you were not feeling well, and where do sick people go? The hospital! That's where you must be. The hospital is a short drive from the house. I will go to you at once and tell you the tales of our past until your smile hurts your cheeks and your laughter makes it hard to breathe.
In case you want to write a new entry about the birthday gift you receive, I grab your diary, then return to the main floor. I throw on a heavy jacket and my fanciest shoes, then cram the book into a jacket pocket before buttoning up and tying my shoes. I go to grab the car keys, but to my surprise, they're missing. I check the garage and find our car is still there. I search the laundry room for a minute but discover no keys. You must have accidentally grabbed them as you hurried to the hospital. Regardless, I cannot be mad at you for such a simple mistake; after all, today is your birthday. Anyway, I'm too eager to see your expression when you receive your gift. The hospital isn't too far on foot, so I will embark on a quest, which isn't such a challenge but rather, at some points, a literal walk in the park.
I exit our home, committed as ever to finding you.
Chapter 6
The world is cold, snow sprinkling the dark landscape, but I feel neither frigid nor exhausted as I embark on my journey. Despite the darkness, the idea of reuniting with you lights my way. Despite the cold, my blood boils with anticipation, knowing the distance between us shrinks with every step. Despite the pain in these stiff joints, the need to make you smile gives me the strength of a hundred men. I am unstoppable. You will receive my gift.
The ankle-high snow hinders my already slow pace, powder finding its way into my low-cut shoes. My thin socks and unfortunate choice of footwear do little to retain any heat in my feet, but they continue their steady march nonetheless.
I repeat the directions to myself to occupy my mind. Through the alley, along the edge of the park, turn right at the main road, then the road signs will guide me the rest of the way. It's not rocket science. I gather myself and increase my speed. The cold begins to nip at my toes, but noticing an alley in the distance encourages me. I'm getting closer to you, my love.
I arrive at the mouth of the alley and stare down its dark throat. No light illuminates the long straight path except for the full moon. No snow removal has been done for some time, but the footsteps of past travellers make the path slightly more manageable. A twang of fear plucks my heartstrings, momentarily raising the question of whether this is such a good idea, but there is nothing more important than seeing you.
I continue.
A sudden blast of wind stops me in my tracks, but I put my head down and push forward. The moonlight creates strange shadows which surround me, menacingly waving their limbs in my direction, but I proceed down what feels like an endless path.
Halfway through, a patch of ice beneath the snow takes my feet out from under me. The snow's burn is nothing to me as I press my bare hands into the ground and stand. I brush the snow from my jacket, then cup my hands together and blow hot breath against my frigid palms. The warm air feels lovely against my cold skin, adding a slight smile to my expression of icy determination.
I glance over my shoulder to see how far I've come. Halfway there. No sense in turning back now. I've got somewhere to be.
Through the wind and snow, I proceed.
I carefully walk the rest of the path but encounter no other hidden patches of ice.
Nowhere near the end but one step closer to you, there is a slight sense of achievement upon finishing the first step of my quest.
The feeling lasts mere seconds, for as I exit the path, which hooked left at the end, I'm greeted not with the sight of the beautiful park we've visited countless times but rather by another street.
I pause and try to comprehend what went wrong. Did I get spun around when I fell? No, that can't be right. Looking back, I can see the end I exited from is hooked, whereas I entered a straight path. The wrong path, then?
Of course. There are two paths near each other. I must have missed the path I was meant to enter and went down this one instead. I could retrace my steps but am unwilling to reenter that deathtrap of an alley, my fall still fresh in my mind. So instead, I will proceed on the streets, as in comparison, they are well maintained and have a layer of road salt on them. I'm discouraged by my lack of progress and the need for a detour, but nowhere near quitting. This road will also lead me to the main road.
I've been lost for some time, wandering, searching for anything familiar, but nothing is. I'm cold, my once fiery determination now an icy resolve spurred on by my relentless love. You are the single thought in my mind.
My toes and fingers no longer sting; the feeling has left them. My hands are stuffed deep into my pants pockets, curled into tight fists. My mind no longer races, empty now except for the beat of my heart's drum. The soldier in me presses onward, despite my confusion.
Where am I?
Nothing is familiar; everything is blanketed under a white veil. Houses with Christmas lights sparkle on either side of me, but the festive decorations mean nothing to me. There is only one light to follow, yours, but I lost it in the snow. Won't you ask a fellow star to guide my way?
I finally reach a main road and approach the street signs to get my bearings. I read the name of the street I'm on and the one that intersects it, but I'm astonished to find that I've never heard of either.
How far could I have walked?
I didn't cross any main streets. This doesn't make sense.
I'm terrified by my surroundings, this place so opposite the country where we were born, the icy wind assaulting my will. A snow plow skirts down the road, startling me and causing me to jump back. I trip over a pile of snow and fall backwards, the impact against my back and head softened by the white cushion below.
I lay here hopeless.
My efforts have been for nought.
I must have walked in the wrong direction.
You are farther from me now than ever before.
The wind blows powder over my motionless body. Perhaps it's best to lay here a little longer, my suddenly exhausted body begging for a break.
As I rest on my frigid mattress, I imagine you lying in a hospital bed, alone and equally hopeless, praying I find my way to you.
For you, I am mighty.
For you, I defy all.
I roll to my side, sit up, brush the snow from the back of my neck, sending ice sliding down my spine, and get to my feet. How much time have I wasted wandering? What I need is directions, then I can press on.
Across the street, a coffee shop is still open despite the time. Directions and coffee are just what the doctor ordered.
Pulling the glass door open, a wave of heat greets me as it blankets my grateful body. The door closes behind me, and I am relieved as I breathe in warm air. I exchange a smile with the man behind the counter as I brush my snowy shoes on the entrance carpet. Once satisfied that I won't make too much of a mess on the spotless floor, I approach the counter.
When I arrived, the young man had been watching a TV on the wall. A news anchor warns of an incoming blizzard and shows an image of a weather map with lines and colours moving this way and that.
The young man greets me, "Good morning, sir. What can I get you?"
Good morning? I glance at the clock above the kitchen window and see it's almost dawn. I walked for hours, yet I have no idea how far is left to go. I search for my wallet but instead come across some snow and the blue book, its plastic cover ice cold after my long ordeal. Despite its freezing temperature, it is a blazing reminder of my mission.
"Could you give me directions?" I ask. "I'm a little lost."
"Sure, no problem, happy to help. It's a cold one tonight. Glad I'm not out there. You got a long trip ahead of you? Where you headed?"
He speaks with an accent, but I get the gist. He'll help me. "I'm looking for Lontano hospital. My wife isn't feeling well, so she is staying there for a few days. It's her birthday today, so I thought I'd go and surprise her but got turned around in the flurries."
"You're not too far. It's around a five-minute drive east of here. I'll write the directions down for you."
He presses a button near his cash register, and a blank piece of paper snakes its way out from where receipts are printed. Once satisfied with the length of the paper, he releases the button, then rips the paper from the machine. Finally, he writes a short list of directions, then hands it to me.
Left out of this store, right at the stoplight, then straight until you reach Vinco. Make a left on Vinco, then straight for approximately a hundred meters. The hospital will be on your right.
As I look over the instructions, the realization that I was wrong earlier, when I believed I had failed, fills me with unexpected joy. Despite my confusion, I covered most of the distance between my starting point and where you lay waiting. Incredulous, I give thanks to whatever angel chose to guide me tonight.
The young man pulls me from my amazement. "Can I get you anything else?" He asks with a smile.
I fold the thin paper a few times before storing it in my inner jacket pocket, which I zip up. "A black coffee would be great," I reply, feeling an energy boost is just what is needed for the last leg of my journey.
"Coming right up." He turns, grabs the coffee pot behind him and a mug, and begins to pour. Then, he hands me the steaming beverage. I gratefully accept it with both hands, pressing as much of my freezing skin against the hot ceramic as possible. It stings, but the warmth creeping through my hands is so pleasant.
"That will be two dollars, sir."
I sigh, put the mug down, and search my pockets for my wallet. My pants' pockets have a box of Tic Tacs and some used kleenex, the two front pockets of my jacket have a pair of thin black gloves, which would have been wonderful to find a few hours ago, and in my side pockets, I find your blue book but no wallet. Finally, I check my inside jacket pocket, but there's nothing but the slip of paper I received moments ago.
"I forgot my wallet. Sorry."
"Maybe it's in your car," the man offers, glancing at the mug.
"No, I walked. I must have left it in my other jacket." Disappointed, I push the mug to his end of the counter. "I guess just the directions will do. Thanks for the help."
I smile and start to turn to the door, but the young man calls out before I turn all the way around.
"If you're walking to the hospital, you'll need all the strength you can get. It's still a ways away. Tell you what, this one's on me. Just don't tell anyone," he says and shoots me a friendly wink, pushing the mug back to my side of the counter.
"I appreciate that, really."
"Don't mention it. Make it to the hospital in one piece, and I'll be happy."
A phone rings behind the counter, and the man says, "I should answer that. Good luck." He turns, grabs his phone, and begins a heated conversation in a foreign language.
Sitting at a booth by an east-facing window, I sip my still-steaming beverage, watching as the sun reveals the world once again, and recognize where I am. I've been by this coffee shop a thousand times, but this is my first visit. It's funny how the night and some snow can make one imagine they're in another world.
Savouring the last sips of my above-average cup of coffee, my spirits high, I pull the directions from my jacket pocket. Left, right, left, right. Easy enough. Despite this being my first time taking this route, I'm not worried. Feeling like the hard part is behind me, the sky finally taking a break from powdering the ground, I quickly use the washroom, wash my hands with the warmest water the sink will provide, enjoy the heat from the air dryer against my still chilly skin, then finally exit the restaurant, waving at the friendly gentlemen behind the counter. I turn left and continue my journey.
In contrast to the nightmare I endured in the dark, the second leg of my trip is smooth sailing. The weather is considerably warmer, the wind has died down, the sidewalks have been cleared, and my future is as bright as the sun ahead of me.
After no time at all, I reach Vinto avenue, where I turn left and glimpse the hulking hospital in the distance. A tremendous smile blooms and my legs carry me at a younger man's speed, faster than they've moved in years. I'm panting when I reach the hospital's front doors, but my face remains stretched in a tenacious grin.
I'm so close.
All cold has left me, my heart radiating a heat that I'm surprised doesn't melt the surrounding snow. I step through the automatic sliding doors and enter a bright reception area.
Walking towards the intake counter, I forget to clean my shoes and trail snow and dirt along the floor. A middle-aged woman in a white blouse, her hair pulled tightly back, with dark bags under her eyes, the ones of someone approaching the end of a long shift, sits behind a sliding window. She looks up from a pile of papers and asks, "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here to see my wife. Could you tell me what room she's in?"
I give her your name, which she inputs into the old computer on her desk. I rock with excitement, knowing I am moments away from seeing you.
The woman looks slightly confused. "Sir, are you sure you're at the right hospital? There's a patient by that name in our system, but her last visit was over two years ago."
She hammers away at her keyboard, asking, "Maybe her name was inputted wrong. Could you give me some more information?"
So I give her our address, my name, and other details. The woman compares them to the information on the screen, her smile fading the more I say.
I'm beginning to worry, so I ask her, "What's wrong? Would it be possible for you to contact the nearby hospitals if she isn't here?"
"That won't be necessary. Do you have someone we can call? A family member, a friend, a caregiver? It's better if you have someone here with you." The woman's eyes tighten as she forces a thin smile.
That damn anger of mine rears its horns once more, but my desire to see you keeps it in check. Through a forced smile of my own, I respond, "I only need one person right now, and I already gave you her name. If you could guide me to the hospital where she's being cared for, I will be on my way. You see, today is her birthday, and I would like her to start her day with me by her side. I've got a gift for her I know she will love." The woman glances at her screen, and her frown deepens.
I held my polite tone for as long as possible, but my composure breaks, "Just do your job, and tell me where she is!"
After my final comment, the woman rolls her eyes, sighs, and responds, "There's no easy way for me to say this, so I'll just spit it out. The woman in our system who was here two years ago, who you confirmed is your wife with the information you provided, has passed away. It says she passed away due to a long battle with cancer two years ago. It's never easy, but this can't be the first you're hearing of this. So please, let me help you. Could you give me the phone number of someone I can call for you?"
I'm petrified, thunderstruck, shaken to the core, but no words can express the magnitude of the pain which hit me with the force of an atomic bomb.
As she talks, my haggard mind replays a memory. One where I wear a suit. One where a line of people keep shaking my hand, hugging me, and wishing me condolences. One where crying people kneel and pray by a... What are they kneeling by?
This memory is the one I desperately hide from, the one I sometimes recall but push so far from my mind it should pop out of my ear.
The smell of incense. The sound of soft classical music without the slightest upbeat moment. A dreary, monotonous repetition of sorrow.
I knelt, staring into the large box in front of me. There was something precious in that box.
Despite my inner conflict, a part of me desperately fighting to keep this truth buried, I know, deep inside my exhausted mind, my eyes squeezed tightly shut now, that it's you in that box, my love.
I've always known.
My defence against such an unbearable pain was to forget, pretend, and escape.
I kneel on the hard hospital floor, just as I did that day, tears flowing onto the stone tiles, each drop slapping into a growing puddle. The woman stands and bends over the counter, staring down at me.
She stammers, "I have your daughter's number on file as your wife's emergency contact. I'm going to call her."
I hear the woman pick up the phone and dial a sequence of numbers, but the need to be alone overwhelms me, so I jump up. I spin on my heels and exit the way I came, the woman's pleas sounding distant as I do.
Right now, all I need is to be alone, but home is so far, and if I return, there are those unfamiliar faces. Even at home, I cannot be alone.
Where then?
I stagger away from the hospital as far as my legs will take me before collapsing on a bench at the edge of Vinto avenue. My tears fill me with shame as pedestrians stare, but nothing can plug the holes from which they flow.
I remember everything.
Years of you becoming sicker and sicker, my denial growing stronger and stronger, forcing myself to forget more and more. The sicker you became, the more I repressed, concealing all that was connected to the disease growing inside you.
My love, a house is not a home without you, and my world is empty with you no longer in it.
I drop to my side on the snow-covered bench and feel something hard pressing into my lower ribs. I sit up and examine the bench for what caused my discomfort but find nothing. I press my hand to where I felt the pain and feel the blue book nestled in my jacket pocket. I produce it and hold it out in front of me with both hands, as someone would hold a priceless artifact, one of a kind and with so much to teach. This piece of you, its pages full of your thoughts and dreams printed in your neat handwriting, is my remaining connection to you, so I hold it against my heart. After some time, I realize there are many pages of this book still to read.
I open the book.
There is nothing but soggy pages.
The relentless snow crept into my pockets overnight, then melted, making every word undecipherable.
My horror is immense.
There is no hope of seeing you.
I now understand that is impossible.
My rage is insatiable.
I tear page after page from your little blue book, throwing them into the wind where they fly away, just like you did. I cannot stop until none of those hundreds of pages remains.
Breathing heavily, I examine what's left of the book and am shocked to see your handwriting on the inside of the back cover. The last pages had been blank, so I hadn't thought to check for any writing at the end of your little blue book.
I struggle to still my shaking hands so I can read the few words I have left from you, preserved on the plastic cover.
Eventually, my will prevails as my hands grow still.
What came first, my sickness or your forgetfulness? Even I cannot remember. Perhaps the two came as one, a double disease that destroyed us from both ends. How else could a love as strong as ours be assaulted if not by a joint attack? The more you see me sick, the more you forget, which makes me sicker still. A cycle of degradation leading to our inevitable demise. Temporarily, we suffer, but eternity awaits, for when our mortal shells are shed, you and I will finally be free. I will go first, but I'll be waiting patiently for you. Take your time, and enjoy your days. Heaven together, infinity with you by my side. I'll tell God I want nothing more.
Your words, sweet and hopeful, remind me of every magnificent moment we spent together. Our home, our family, our friends, our music, our ups, our downs. Every moment together floods my mind. All the good times we enjoyed and all the hard times we overcame, every moment spent with you deserving of my fond reflection.
My reflection eventually leads to the beginning of yesterday when I realized today is your birthday. Laughing, I recall the events of my little adventure and how determined I was to give you a gift you would love, me without my cognitive impairment.
How would it have gone had I been successful?
Here's your gift, honey.
Where is it?
Right here.
What are you talking about?
It's me!
You would have rightfully been confused until I recited the tales of our life.
I imagine how your eyes would have grown wide when I recounted story after story. I envision how your smile would have glowed when you recognized the gift you were given. Me at my fullest.
All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.
I regret not being able to provide you with what I restored, but a sudden idea comes to my mind. As I grow eager, ready for another improvisation on my long journey, I accept that I am indeed the stubbornest human to walk the earth, as I have concocted a final plan to complete my mission, to give you what you wrote about on those now lost pages.
I stand.
I'm exhausted, not only physically from my journey or lack of sleep, but spiritually. Reliving a lifetime of memories drained me more than a hundred hours of gruelling labour, and my painful realization in the hospital was like puncturing a hole in my gas tank, allowing what was left of my energy to leave me. Most of all, I'm exhausted from living without you. Life without you is like an engine with half its cylinders firing. I am acutely aware of how dynamic life is with you in it, so in comparison, it is sluggish and often nonfunctional without you. No mechanic can install the plugs needed to get it going. I cannot derive any pleasure from living such a life.
I accept that more than the truth of what happened to you, I've been hiding from that emptiness I endure when you're gone, that horrible void that drains any good from my life, leaving it grey and muted. There is no music without you, my love; the world merely hums a single flat note. The flowers do not bloom, the birds do not sing, the sugar is not sweet, and my heart barely beats. It has been a tough road without you.
I see the end to my exhaustion and a way to deliver my gift to you, speeding towards me from the end of the street. Its lights and bumper seem to form a smiling face, so I smile back as I step onto the street to meet it.
My love, I'm on my way.
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125,029 Literary Works • 672,786 Reviews
Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),
Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!
First Impression: Okayyy well this was a very fitting second part that absolutely built so perfectly on what we saw there at the start and ended well...as one would expect something this tragic. I suppose in the end there is some semblance of happiness too.
Anyway let's get right to it,
Okay well this is going to be quite something here to see. This person actually trying to process all of this information and see where exactly it will all lead. I have a feeling we're going to be only rewarded with heartbreak even if ultimately we end up in a situation where this person manages to actually remember what's really happening around him.
Okay this is a slightly different direction that was I was but no less painful as yet again we see this person grappling with the terrible fears that tend to come with losing the ability to remember things. I have a feeling this whole little cascade down memory lane is going to end with quite a bit of heartbreak at the end.
Oh this is quite the little roll that we're getting on here. Its very cleverly done there, just mixing in this person's life story alongside the pain of having lost memories and that terror of having to try quite hard to recall the tiniest things. Its a lovely choice that you've made there.
I love that we are seeing how clearly these are simply the absolutely most memorable moments and places in this person's life, the few that seem to have defined him. I like how that does two jobs of showing just what memories have faded and also establishing the milestones of this person's life and creating a little backstory.
Well that was dismissed for the moment but I have a feeling perhaps this is going to end up getting worse anyway once this person actually manages to reach close to the end with this trip meandering down memory lane.
Oh well there we go. Ahhh the contrast there between this person believing nothing is wrong and reassuring to himself that he will make his wife happy and this is all not that much of an issue coupling with the fact that upon sitting down he can't actually recall much is once again another one of those incredibly powerful moments.
Well this is quite the little sequence there right from how we've got the pain of pulling at this string that just doesn't seem to lead anywhere until we hit another one of those life defining memories and suddenly we're lost back in this beautiful time of the person reminiscing the better parts of the past. A temporary little rest in what looks like its going to be quite a horrifying ride through the rest of these memories.
Oh here we go, here we go. We're running into the memories that have vanished completely and oh that line that just echoes across there is incredibly powerful alongside that. You do a really good job of bringing up quite how crazy that happens to be the and the sheer power of the sort of impact it leaves is immense.
Oh here we go, here we go. The questioning is really starting to come in there and goodness me this is somehow evolving and finding new ways to showcase this horror unfold and somehow build up even more on the sadness that has already created by what we've seen upto this point.
Oh this one once again, love the way this emotion comes across there. The power to see that this person is so frustrated from not being able to properly recall it all that he just can't think of anything but to throw something to clear his mind. Once again these notes are really hitting home and hitting it incredibly powerfully.
Oh wow, this is yet another moment. The little bit of cleanup is interesting enough on its own there to show the person trying to just make up for that moment that was lost there but now to see this hit upon a granddaughter this person clearly seems to not remember the existence of until this moment just, it all just doubles up on us there to see more evidence of everything we've suspected so far.
Oh well I was not expecting that to happen, not in this moment certainly, I thought that would be more for the end but it seems through all and through discovering yet another significant gap in this memory our protagonist actually finally accepts what happening. Oh I have a feeling the reaction to this will be exquisitely painful.
Oh well this is worse than simple blaming himself, this person is trying to force himself down memory lane and look at more and more things in an attempt to see if that jogs the memory some more. The sheer desperation in the way this action happens really says it all there.
Oh this desperation building like that as this person can't really recognize much is just once again incredibly powerful. To see the person even think everyone in the picture is simply looking down on him for this, we can quite clearly see this all just headed towards what looks like it will be one big crisis.
Oh dear that does not sound like a great journey to embark on. I love the little hope we're getting with the person able to actually recall at least a tiny little bit through flipping around that particular album but the road to remembering everything feels like its not going to end with him able to gift anything to his wife.
Oh this one is certainly about to get immensely painful here. We dive right into the whole montage of things being looked up, and the person coming into warn there seems like possible a daughter once again but that just pales in comparison to clearly seeing that he is not with anyone else in this house at the moment.
Oh nooo...I'm just screaming at this point at how obviously incredibly sad this is about to become as this person almost with childlike enthusiasm and logic comes to that conclusion and declares that somehow he must find his wife when all signs very clearly point to him only finding out the one thing even if this memory does come back somewhat.
Oh dear, it looks like this time there's not even someone to stop the person which I would bring up as a potentially unrealistic note but at this point you've built up more than enough powerfully real moments within this to earn one reprieve to hit these emotions home just a little bit more powerfully.
Oh the proudness this person has for how much he manages to remember including it seems the path to the hospital just hits you hard once again as the reader because we're helpless, unable to anything but just watch this unfold and watch this man walk towards all of that sadness to come.
Oh this is an interesting one. I didn't expect to see the weather coming into play there to be the obstacle to this person's path here but in some way it makes an odd amount of sense and if this person continues to now fight through this just to deliver this proud news only to see...well this is just building to more and more pain here.
Oh the determination this person has is both so endearing but also completely impossible to appreciate and love because we know that despite all of this beauty that comes through with this, we're about to witness only horror at the end of all of this.
Oh now, this is somehow even more painful that I thought. It seems this path the person seemed to remember so confidently either is in another area entirely that this person doesn't really realize or this person just isn't remembering the right path at all and now we're stuck in a different kind of panic about to occur.
Oh this is just heartbreaking on an entirely new level to see this person try and try despite now also realizing that he is fully lost and clearly can't seem to recognize any of the things in the area. I don't see this one heading anywhere good from here, especially given no one seems to have noticed him leave.
Oh this whole scene of the person realizing he's lost and then just trying desperately to gather some sense of direction to find a way to his love. The more I think you've managed to hit the peak of how painful this is, something more painful just comes swimming right along.
Oh yeah this is about to really get quite dire isn't it. The weather really isn't a good time to get lost in and I have a feeling this ending is about to get really really tragic now more than simply the emotions that are at play.
Oh this is certainly heading towards the worst here, choosing to take a break to rest in weather like that feels like we're just barreling towards this person never really being able to get from that spot at least not unless someone manages to realize he's missing and come after him.
Oh dear, rolling to the side isn't going terrible well there either. I really hope this person gets up soon and the worst isn't about to be how this ends. There's still quite a bit to go in this story so I am hopeful even though this story so far has given me no reason to have any hope left.
Oh this is nice thankfully. A coffee shop to the rescue and it seems we manage to get ourselves just a little moment's respite here. Perhaps this ending won't quite dip towards being nearly that tragic.
Oh this an interesting thing. The reference to good morning and then a cold night is interesting. Seeing the idea of this person walking all through the night is already powerful and this doesn't really damage it too much but I wonder if that was a bit of a mistake there or if maybe this person is simply referencing the night to come.
Ohh well this is an interesting one. So the hospital is there, the directions just aren't remembered so well. Now though the issue comes down to if this person will actually manage to rest here first and warm up before heading out to be safe and if this hospital name is in fact an accurate one. Either way I suppose he's not finding anything but horror at said hospital.
Oh this is awesome. It seems at least this person is remembering to take a little bit of care and the directions appear like this time this person will be able to actually follow them to this hospital. Another rare moment where things don't appear incredibly bleak and there is some hope to be had for this future.
Oh well that's a problem I didn't even think about. Clearly he wouldn't have any cash on him. I really do hope this person we've encountered is going to be nice enough there to wave it through for the moment. It is only two dollars and this person does seem quite kind.
Yes there is some good in this story. I adore this little moment as inconsequential as it might turn out to be in the grand scheme of this story. Now our protagonist has something of a reasonable chance of at least making it to the hospital even if arriving there will not be able to do much in the way of reassuring him.
Oh the foreign language there gives me just a little bit of pause as to what might be going on there in the background but I think we can safely ignore that for just the moment here because it looks like despite all of that horror at least we've got a warm cup of coffee being properly enjoyed.
Oh this is really nice to see. So things have in fact cleared up a little and suddenly the world seems just a tiny bit brighter. Its almost enough to give you hope if it wasn't for the fact that all signs currently point to the wife being dead at this point in time.
Oh well it seems he does make it to the hospital successfully after all. Oh I am almost afraid to read where this is going to go at this rate. We've reached the real crux of it all and we're about to hit on the worst part now. At the least it could've been more tragic so this is a tiny tiny plus for happiness.
Oh seeing this excitement build is quite possibly the most painful things possible there to witness. Oh wow is this really hitting us hard with the feels now to show this person braving all of that and being so excited to finally succeed only to of course discover the inevitable.
Oh well here we go, it seems the reveal is right around the corner and this particular woman doesn't seem to be doing the greatest job of trying to find a way to break it to this person nicely. We're just seeing more and more headed our way and oh this is exquisitely painful here.
Oh no this is not good. This person does not seem to be nice enough to actually try and make this person feel better in anyway and I have a feeling this little snap that ends up happening out of frustration is only going to result in the truth just being spat out to properly bring this person to the worst state yet.
Oh no, here it comes. Here it comes. I was afraid of this, but well that memory simply had to resurface for the end didn't it. Oh well here comes all that pain and suddenly all the build up is going to just hit home everywhere all at once.
Well here we go, it all hits hard and then harder and harder. Oh my goodness even with this being very obviously what is to happen since around the start of this part you just aren't prepared at all for this actually happening and it all breaking loose.
Oh that's a heart wrenching realization that perhaps witnessing this traumatic event played a large part in making the husband's condition be so bad because that whole memory was just pushed as far down to the depths as it could possible go. At least it seems some help will arrive so finally it seems someone will know our protagonist is missing.
Oh this is not going to end well from the looks of things. Him staggering right out there to the read really doesn't feel like we're going to get anywhere good with this. The incredibly tragic ending is once again very much on the table and I am so very afraid to see how this will end.
Oh wow this is much worse than I thought. It seems the moment where this person was diagnosed with cancer was how it all actually began and this whole diseases comes from that and oh my goodness you've somehow found a way to make this significantly more painful.
Oh well to see this whole thing go from pain to now just rage at it all is somehow even more painful here. Oh I don't even want to know how this will now end with all of this comes to a head. I really hope this daughter manages to actually arrive sometime soon.
Hmm well it seems at least this moment of rage and sadness has passed for a slight moment here as this person managed to get some of that out of his system. I'm still afraid this is really not going to end up being enough though.
Oh this is oddly beautiful again because suddenly we're seeing almost a connection back to the first chapter of the emotions just having him spent and him returning to simply thinking of everything going on and everything that went on instead of just giving into the horrible grief and the anger there.
Oh this is something again. Somehow it seems this moment has actually semi unlocked that trauma there enough to get this person to remember something and it feels almost like a moment of peace has been found by the person managing to actually realize perhaps at last that gift has been somewhat achieved.
Well this is not somehow bittersweet but still very sad. To see this person reconcile most of it and be weary of just the world now, the true facts of the world no less which always feel just so much heavier.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...oh you got me with that one. I though perhaps a smiling moment but instead have tragedy only this time its arguably significantly worse than the chance of freezing away in the cold because this is so very voluntary and ahh goodness I'm so torn in two about that ending.
Aaaaand that's it for this one.
Overall: Overall an incredibly powerful tale from start to finish. I think you went ahead and painted this beautiful but heart wrenching tapestry and it just never missed at any point. It built and built right until the crushing end and I like to think despite all the horror, maybe, just maybe at the end we had a tiny, tiny bit of happiness after all.
As always remember to take what you think was helpful and forget the rest.
Stay Safe
Kate
Hello Kate. Thanks for taking the time to read my work. I absolutely love your reviewing style. Reliving my story with your feedback helped me see the story through another set of eyes, and I got to really sit back and enjoy your reactions. This website is lucky to have someone as dedicated and supportive as you. No words can do my gratitude justice, but thanks for being awesome.
heya simpleJ,
Shady back with another review for you this fine Review Day, as promised! I am excited to see how you wrap this story up and think I have prepared myself for the heartbreak that I am sure you have in store for me <3 Let's dive on in...
Just wanted to say that I think this is great that you worked this in! I had been wondering where they immigrated from and to throughout the story anytime you mentioned the language barrier the poor guy faced. It was getting progressively more irksome to me that I didn't have that info so I think this is timely for you to slip it in so smoothly here so now I know ^^
I also think it would be good if you could slip in his and his wife's names sooner or later. We're already to chapter 5 and I know very little about them. Like, you're limited on how much you can work in with first-person limited perspective and you're doing remarkably well considering that, I recognize that. But I feel like it would be simple enough for the wife's diaries to be like "my sweet ___, you've left me too soon" or something rather than just referring to him as her husband, you know? And in his longing for his wife you could also slip in the name.
Like, I'm just dating and I'm young so not really similar, but with my girlfriend, I alternate between calling her "babe" and her given name when I'm addressing her directly and alternate between calling her "my gf" and her given name when I'm referring to her in front of other people. So I think when he keeps demanding "where's my wife" you could easily switch it up to include her name. Like maybe the first time he asks where's my wife, then the second time be like "Bre? Bre, where are you my love?" or something? idk. Just spitballing here to maybe help you brainstorm since at this point I DO want to know the names of the man and his wife that I've been following for over 6,000 words at this point.
Ahhhh omg this is SO wholesome and tragic :'( he seems like SUCH a good bean and I feel so badly for him <3
... alright I'll just go over here and cry now </3 this is so haunting and the repetition is masterfully done to utterly destroy me
AHHH YOU ARE CRUSHING MEEEEEE
I CAN'T
AHHHHHHH
okay. I legitimately tabbed out for a moment to collect my thoughts xD which honestly, props to you <3 I am not a very emotional person and generally media does not actually engage with my emotions to a very strong degree, but you've been tugging on my heartstrings from start to finish with this story <3
This feels like a continuity error. Earlier this afternoon he was in his garden harvesting vegetables and killing squirrels and now he's in deep snow? I understand he's an unreliable narrator but you've not given us any indication that he's slept or that enough time has passed for seasons to change. You said it was autumn, he read her journal, drank some coffee, looked through photo albums, then took off -- implying this all happened in a single day.
Wholesome! We stan <3
ahhhhh you are DESTROYING me stahpppp
STOP OMG I CAN'T HANDLE THIS
~~~
I...
wow.
Just... wow.
I legit had to take some time before reading my summary here because I was SO up in my feels about this story. I recognize I am hormonal due to a recent procedure I had and that probably is contributing xD but like this is SO ridiculously good that I don't even know what to do with myself.
I think I mentioned either above or in the previous review, but I tend not to be a very emotional person in general and certainly not when it comes to consuming media. Like I'm not sure if I've ever read a piece of fiction that's brought me to tears before? And if I have it has been a very, very long time. But this did. It made me legitimately tear up and have SUCH a flood of emotions on his behalf. Grief, mostly. Dread for when he figured it out. Second-hand heartache if that's even a thing.
This couple and his wife seemed like SUCH good beans from the story you pieced together through his broken memory. The emotions were so raw and realistic, too. Her sorrow in her diary entries about her husband's declining memory and her trying to be stoic about her own health issues and the frustration they both had. And then his kids, too. Ahhh ;-; </3
So, the remaining questions I have are:
1) I still don't love that I still don't know their names. I already rambled about ideas on his to work them in subtly so I won't repeat myself here but it feels bittersweet to come to the end of a story this gutwrenching and not even know my narrator's name. I had gotten hopeful when he started listing off the names of his grandkids but I didn't see anything about himself or his wife.
2) In a similar vein, I don't know who Bill is for Bill's wedding photo album. I thought it would be explained but it didn't seem to be (at least if it was, I missed it). Is Bill the Narrator? Or one of his sons? Or someone entirely? If I recall correctly the photo was of the narrator and his brothers and sons so it kind of doesn't seem like it'd be his wedding since it seems like they had a fairly traditional relationship i.e., marriage before kids. But it feels a bit loose to not know who Bill is.
Otherwise, this is SO, so good. I don't want to beat a dead horse, but I also don't think I could overstate just how incredible this story really was. It was masterfully paced and polished in a way that felt like published literature. I literally recommended it to one of my irl friends because it was SO good and I feel the need to share it with others.
The ending was gutwrenching but felt like a natural conclusion that was bittersweet and tragic all at once. I felt so terrible for the man but am glad he is finally getting the peace he deserves <3
All-in-all I don't think I have anything further of value to add, so I'll wrap this up and spare you from more screaming about how absolutely gut-wrenching and heart-shattering this piece was. You are an extremely talented author who very obviously spent a lot of time on this story and I hope you realize how absurdly good this is <3
Keep writing! And, as always, let me know if there was anything you wanted specific feedback on that I missed or if you have any questions about anything that I said!
~Shady
P.S. here is your obligatory Review Day Fahrvergnügen and Schadenfreude xD
Hello Shady. Thank you for your review. Despite rereading this story over and over, I still missed little things, so I appreciate the assist in helping me catch my errors. This was a tough write, but your feedback helped me enjoy the story rather than labour over it. Again, thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings, and I hope all is well after your procedure.