Flicker

Mindy pushed her long, brown hair behind her ears and sighed. It took all summer, but the deck to her parents’ house was completely rebuilt. She smiled as she watched her son and daughter playing a game at the table they bought at a yard sale that morning.

She squinted as she looked around the yard. The deck looked nice, but it did little to mask the overgrown flower beds and weeds.

Yes, this place definitely needed more work, but when could she do it? It took seven months to get the deck rebuilt, and that was with the help of neighbors and a handyman she crossed paths with at the hardware store last month. All she ever heard Mom say was that she needed more help, which frustrated Mindy. What about her? She still had to go to work, still had a husband and two children to care for, still had her own home to take care of. It frustrated her that Mom’s decision to keep Dad out of a nursing home lead to constant pressure on her to “do a bit more.” If Mom made the decision, why did Mindy have to pay for it, over and over again?

Mindy sighed and sank in a rocking chair. She remembered how happy Dad was when he built this deck what, thirty years ago? He was so proud to finally have a place outside where the family could have summer barbeques, picnics, and play time together. And they did, so many times. Part of her bridal and baby showers were held on this deck. But that was before the shadow of Alzheimer’s, when life was peaceful and simple.

She missed it all so much: Her childhood, the home, her family. She barely heard from her sister and brother, who lived out of town and only visited for holidays. Dementia had not just taken her father; it had stolen her whole family. She wanted it all back so badly. The sunny memories of a happy childhood were dimmed by the shadow of dementia.

Maybe this will help to bring him back, at least a little, she thought. She knew he would never be the same person again, but it was worth it if there was any hope of seeing any flicker of the man he had been. Daddy had withdrawn so much in recent months that anything would be a victory. It would mean he wasn’t completely lost. Not yet.

She turned as she heard the back door open and saw Mom pushing Dad onto the deck in his wheelchair. He looked better today. He was dressed, shaven, and his hair was combed. That was better than last weekend, when he was disheveled and raving about a neighbor that made him angry forty years ago. She stood and walked to his wheelchair; taking his hand.

“Look Daddy, we did it. We fixed the deck!”

His blue eyes lit up with a hint of recognition. “The children like it,” he said softly.

“Yes they do!” Mindy said, smiling.

He nodded slightly, then his gaze fell on a spot on the horizon. The smile faded and his hand went limp.

She let go of his hand and looked at Mom, who shrugged. “It’s something,” Mom mumbled before wheeling him to a shady spot
where he continued to gaze at the horizon.

Mindy nodded. That flicker of recognition was all he had to give, and she had to accept it. She leaned over the railing, studying the blue horizon that stretched far beyond her gaze, past the weeds and overgrown flower beds. “Yes it’s something,” Mindy said, as a breeze blew through her hair, brushing aside her musings and longings for former days, “and it’s good enough.”

Word Count: 622