Part 1:

65. 65. 65. 65. Turning 65 was the age that changed my life changed forever. It’s the age that starts to make you start to feel old, your bones start to creak, and your hair starts to transform into a grey mess.

I started my pension that year, and so did my husband; we planned to use our money to go traveling and spoil our three grandchildren. Our only child, Matthew, had grown up and moved away with his family, so we were ready to sell up and start our new retired lives.

Things started small. I started to forget where the car keys were regularly; I figured it happened to everyone. Then I couldn’t remember where we kept the plates, forgot if I had eaten lunch, and got confused about where I lived. It only got worse from there.

It was a normal day; I wanted to surprise my husband and cook him his favorite, a full English breakfast. I quickly popped out to the shops and got all the things I needed, bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, black pudding, mushrooms, and spent that morning cooking it all up.

By the time he had woken up, I had everything served up and laid out on the table. He came downstairs in his pajamas, not work clothes as usual. I checked the planner and realized it was Sunday not Tuesday like I seemed to think it was.

Sitting down at our dining table and looking at the food I had just served, he looked confused but picked up his knife and fork and started eating.

We both finished our plates I got up to take them away then he said, ‘Honey I love you, that was a great breakfast, but you do realize that you’ve been vegetarian for the last two years?’

I turned around, stunned, ‘What, I’m sorry, but you still ate it; why didn’t you say anything?’

He smiled and replied, ‘Because you went to the trouble, and it was a nice surprise.’

That was all that was said about what I did, there were a lot of mistakes and things that I seemed to forget but he didn’t care he laughed and made me laugh with him.

The best memory that I have was when he wanted to surprise me and re-enact our first date at our favorite restaurant along the Cornwall beachfront. It was 7 pm, I stood at the entrance dressed up and anxiously waiting for him, and then he came into view.

Immaculately dressed, my husband walked towards me in a graceful glide. His brown shoes were polished his royal blue trousers without a crease and his matching blazer jacket sat comfortably on his shoulders. Everything was perfect until you looked at his pajama shirt that had a picture of the Grinch on it saying, “Naughty who me?”.

Walking up near to me, he slid his hand into mine and whispered, ‘Love the shirt,’ I dressed up similarly to him, black high heeled shoes a pleated shirt an e,xpensive jacket I got from Ted Baker, only wearing a Scooby-Doo mystery van, pajama shirt underneath as well.

Although you may think it’s weird, seeing what people consider as an elderly couple looking slightly mad going into this fine dining restaurant wearing pajama tops, this was our normal. We had been coming here as newlyweds when the restaurant first opened; each year, on our anniversary, we dressed up and enjoyed our night out, reminiscing about the things we have done over the years.

But last year, I turned up and suddenly realized that I forgot to change out of my pajama top; my husband didn’t say a thing and instead decided to make it a theme for this year. Hopefully, it’s a tradition that we will carry on for a long time.

Part 2:

Waking up is a challenge it doesn’t feel like I’m sleeping anymore if anything I’m becoming more restless; each day is getting slightly more frustrating.

I don’t remember the time that I planned to do something or if I needed to go and pick something up. I keep putting post-it notes around the house to remind me of the things I’m doing but half the time they make no sense at all. The most difficult thing is trying to act normal around my family. My husband is extremely patient; he keeps me calm, sits with me, and just keeps everyone else in check, even if I’m not.

The worst part of it all is that I am scaring my grandchildren. I offered to look after them while Matthew and his wife went off to work, we had a great time playing around in the garden and using the climbing frame that we recently installed. I chased them down the slide, behind bushes, and then got them some crayons to draw on our white patio tiles, I later found out that I gave them permanent markers as a mistake, and my husband said, ‘Well at least we won’t have to pay for them to get painted!’

Most recently when we were playing hide and seek with the whole family, Charlie the youngest hid so well, that I started shouting around thinking that it was Matthew. My Matthew. I ran around terrified that something had happened to him I kept shouting out, ‘Matthew!’ in the hopes that my son would come out, as the game of hide and seek wasn’t the game that I remembered playing.

When we did find him, I grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let anyone touch him, it became a massive scene and something which frightened everyone quite a bit.

Since then, the visits have become more supervised. The conversations have become more guarded and my mind feels like it is constantly drifting day to day. I only exist now; I no longer live.

Part 3:

This bed my bed is comfy. Sleep is what I need I am either in the light or dark nothing in between. I just want to sleep.

This place with these strange people keeps coming in bothering me, the male nurse who keeps hanging around pesters me to eat, ‘Eat something, please, please just eat.’

I keep thinking of my son my little Matthew who turned eight recently I promised him that we would go to the laser park next week with some of his friends, I need to call them, I need to call…

*

I wake up again to some old, crinkly-looking man bringing me some food. It’s bread and soup. I don’t feel hungry I want to sleep. He keeps trying to make me open my mouth and just take a bit or swallow a spoonful. It will not open I do not want food I just want to be left alone.

*

These children keep on coming into my room, and I think they’re lost. They climb onto the chair next to me and all over my bed. They talk to me, although I don’t have much energy to say anything nowadays; I just stare and sometimes nod. The elderly male nurse picks them up and hugs them. He’s not being a very good nurse he should be telling these kids to shut up.

A woman comes rushing in who I assume is their mother she apologizes comes over and kisses my forehead. I think she has the wrong room I don’t know her. Then a dashing young man comes in the room, holding a bouquet of flowers he smiles at me and says, ‘Hello Mum.’

Mum, I haven’t heard that word in a long time. This young man must have the wrong room my son is barely old enough to go to school let alone have a family.

I close my eyes and think. Think. I don’t know what I need to think about, this noise is annoying I want it to go away. When Is Matthew coming to visit, I want to see him and ask how his camping trip went.

All I want is for my husband to come in and sort out all these rude people, put them in their place, and show them the exit, he seems to have gone to the supermarket for an awfully long time. Oh, where is he?

*

The days seem to be getting shorter now. There is not much difference between being awake or asleep. The elderly nurse is with me most of the time, he doesn’t seem to leave me alone. He sleeps on the chair next to my bed, his face looks very frail and he has very dark circles around his eyes, even while sleeping his face just has a worrying expression.

I look around, my room is dull, just a bed, a chair a small sofa in front of me, and a toilet room to the right of me. Some flowers and cards are around the room with the names of people I can’t remember. Remember. I must remember.

But remember what? What is left but now? This me. The me I don’t recognize.

My life has become a cycle of waking up and going to sleep and having some people trying to feed me in between. I am no longer a human; I am an artifact, a frail body lying frozen still in bed for people to look at, prod, and poke with no words left to say. I have used them all up.

*

Breathe. Just breathe. How hard is it just to breathe? My lungs feel like heavy oxygen tanks are weighing them down, suffocating me. My eyelids flicker open and close; it’s getting harder and harder. I can’t seem to catch my breath.

The elderly male nurse is holding my hand tight, tears streaming down his face, and a few other people are around me making some noise. I just want it all to stop. To stop having a room of people I don’t know talk to me, clean me, try to feed me. I want someone that I know with a familiar face.

My lungs are feeling heavier and heavier filling up with what feels like water. My breathing becomes long, I keep gasping for air, my eyes are drooping little by little and all I can feel is dark. The breathing sounds are less and less until they are no more.

My lungs stop.

My eyes shut close.

I am at peace.

Part 3 (Husband’s point of view):

I can’t remember how long she has been lying in this bed for days, weeks, maybe even months. She has become a figment of her former self, dwindling in the care home’s bed.

The last few weeks when she was well enough to come out with us, I took her on a walk to the beach, we paddled, skimmed some rocks and I tried to get her to eat some picnic food. She was still the beautiful woman that I fell in love with, she had the same tall slim figure, perfectly manicured nails, and regal wavy, silver hair that framed her slender face. Only her eyes looked empty, she was no longer the person I knew, and she did not know me.

Little by little, she started to forget our names, our friends, how to cook her favorite meals, and wonder us all with her contagious laugh.

At night, I was no longer kept up talking with my best friend until morning. We hadn’t shared a bed for a long while since she woke up screaming at me to get out. She no longer remembered me, her husband, the person that she had shared with more than half her life. All those memories were wiped away. She was now just a shell of her former self, her laugh became lifeless, her body weak and her spirit tired.

Towards the end of her life, we decided that it would be best to move her into a home that could properly take care of her. I spent every day with her, talking to her, reading to her, tucking her in at night, and trying to feed the skeletal frame of my wife’s body. She saw me as her tired old nurse. She had some humor, asking me why I was cheating on my wife with her every night and asking me to sneak her out at night to go and sit outside in the fresh air and watch the stars.

Her last few breaths were the most painful thing I have ever seen in my life. I held onto her arm wrapping my hand tightly in hers, my face drenched in tears, and then she stopped. Her grip became loose, her gasping stopped, and she lay still on the bed.

She was gone.

I was alone.

This was written by our contributing writer, Shanai Besst.