The answer burns in my throat.
Because she’s gone.
Because she’s been gone for twenty years.
Because I watched her die.
Connie catches my eye before I can say a word.
“You miss her,” she says gently.
My grandmother’s lip trembles. “I need her.”
“I know.” Connie squeezes her hand. “But your grandson came to see you.”
Her misty gaze flits to me and she lowers her voice. “Mike doesn’t have any kids.”
She remembers the addict who left home at seventeen but not me.
“Rory is barely a teen.” Her fingers twist in the blanket. “I want to go home. Can you call my husband?”
Connie coaxes her to the edge of the bed.
“Why don’t you tell me more about Rory.” She covers her hand and pulls it to her lap, patting it. “What’s your favorite thing about her?”
My grandmother’s eyes scan the room, landing on a picture of Rory and Mr. Pickles. “She’s so clever—kind too. And an excellent rider. That horse there”—she lifts a finger, pointing at the photo—“such a prick. But Rory wouldn’t give up on him though.”
The wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she studies it. “That horse used to bite.”
Her smile fades.
“Do we still have him?”
At some point, Aspen moved closer, wrapping more of her body around my arm. I need every bit of the support. The worst part about moments like these aren’t that she doesn’t remember me, but how scared she gets. The fear in her eyes and the way she keeps looking for someone that isn’t coming, cuts me half.
Connie looks back at me over her shoulder.
“Why don’t you give us a minute?”
I nod once, the lump in my throat too thick to speak.
I don’t make it more than a few feet before I stop. Aspen’s hand slides down my arm and I shake out of her grip, pacing the hallway, my hands folding together behind my head.
Neither of us say anything.
But there’s nothing to say. Words can’t make this better. This is the heartbreak of loving someone with dementia.
Connie joins a moment later, her lips set into a thin line. I can’t read the expression on her face.
“I’m making it worse, aren’t I?” The question comes out rough. “I walk in there and she gets scared.”
“This would be happening whether you were here or not.” She smiles softly.
“What happened this morning?”
Connie sighs. “The fall didn't cause this either.”
The floor seems to tilt beneath me. “Then what did?”
