Timing Is Everything

Shattered glass and blood in hues of a scarlet red rose are scattered and smeared along the roadside. Fumes of gas and exhaust loom in the air as if creating a toxic bubble around the wreckage of a vehicle that was supposed to keep us safe. My eyes fall upon dad’s body thinking, he looks so peaceful. Content. At the time, my mind wasn’t aware that I was looking at a corpse that housed nothing that made my father, my father. I scrambled over the gear shift and into his lap, squeezing my bruised, bloody body under the steering wheel to rest my head on his solid chest.

Doctors at the hospital define brain death as, “The legal definition of death.” I never imagined that four words would wreak such havoc in just a single second. Brain death occurs quicker than a brief inhale of oxygen. Death is immediate; it is the complete and irreversible cessation of all loss of cerebral function, including the brainstem. The body’s blood supply to the brain is blocked, the brain dies and it cannot be revived. In a single glimpse of time, my dad went from being a patient to a “Heart-Beating Cadaver.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Just moments before the sunlight was hitting my pale face through the untended car window. I leaned my head against the glass as if unloading all my worries on the seemly unbreakable window making my eyes heavy with sudden exhaustion.

A gentle tap on the shoulder jerks my mind awake.

“You’re supposed to be my co-pilot little Miss Alley,” Dad says with a gentle, yet sarcastic tone.

“I know dad, but you know what would help keep your little angel awake?” I say with a bright smile while batting my gleaming green eyes.

“What’s that my sweet little angel?” dad inquires, almost as if he already knows the answer.

“ICE CREAM!” I practically scream.

Dad laughs his goofy laugh, literally just like Goofy from Mickey Mouse, which makes me smile knowing I’m definitely getting ice cream. I lean over and kiss him gently on his scruffy cheek.

“Dad, you poked me with your prickles!” I complain rubbing my lips as if they were really injured.

There’s the Goofy laugh again and then the infamous grin, a quick flash of the teeth, and a crinkled nose, one that dad always said I mastered by the age of one. I turned over in my seat, face against the window soaking in the rays and my eyelids got heavy again.

The nightmares of lying helpless on my father's corpse never deteriorated over time, however, they granted me long sleepless nights. It’s nights like these, frigid with emptiness, that allowed me to connect most with the gradual decaying mind of my gramps. He is much like that of my father; lifeless with a brain that does not work but a heart that remains beating. I stand in the hall of the house that can no longer be called home and watch his still eyes glued to the television screen entranced by Wheel of Fortune or Vanna White. He has yet to acknowledge my presence, but I make it known as I slide a peanut butter and jelly sandwich onto the coffee table. I walk back into the kitchen and sit at the writing desk, as I unfold a piece of parchment, and begin to read:

My Dearest Alley, July 6, 2008

When the time comes for you to read this letter and become older beyond your years, I pray that God gives you the strength to carry on. When I forget your name and who you are please don’t take it quite so hard. If I shy away from your hand, I hope you’ll understand that I’m losing myself. Don’t get frustrated. This is not what I had planned. I’m slowly losing control and it’s all out of my hands. I hope you laugh at my stories that you’ve heard a thousand times. Do you remember when you nearly drown in the lake? My God, I was so scared, that you would be taken from me before I got to watch you grow. I won’t be able to tell you how I feel and what I’m thinking, but I pray you’ll be there to hold my hand and calm my fears. I’ll have no favorite drink, food, or TV show; no friends or family; I’ll be all alone. Will you be there? Do you remember the first time you made PB&J? It’s our favorite. You forgot to add the cinnamon. You cried all night. I hope you don’t yell or curse or swear at me, when I keep repeating myself, and can’t remember the day of the week. Please don’t force me to remember. Don’t lose control or faith. Just be here. And if you have spare time, I hope we talk. I know you’re busy but please always have time for me. My dear Alley I would never wish this burned upon even my worse adversary but you are strong, Alley. When it seems like you can no longer go on, cling to the memories that I no longer can. A thief is running loose in my mind, stealing my mind one cell at a time till I’m nothing. Even when my memories of us are stolen and I’m nothing but a heart-beating cadaver, I’ll always be here for you.

All my love,

Gramps.

I fold the letter according to the previous creases and set it back on the writing desk with tears flowing down my cheeks that even the darkness cannot mask.

“You remembered the cinnamon this time” gramps's voice echoes from behind me.

“Yes, it’s our favorite,” I said as I smile like a child who has just colored inside the lines for the first time.

”My granddaughter would like you.” He responds absently, and walks away.

The doctors diagnosed gramps with Alzheimer’s in early 2008. There are seven stages that progressively get worse with time. In its early stages, memory loss is mild and mainly affects the part of the brain that controls learning, but with late-stage Alzheimer's, individuals lose the ability to carry on a conversation and respond to their environment. In Alzheimer's disease, brain cells degenerate and die causing a steady decline in memory and mental function. A brain affected by Alzheimer's disease has fewer cells and fewer connections among surviving cells than does a healthy brain. As more and more brain cells die, Alzheimer's leads to significant brain shrinkage and slowly decays the brain.

Time. It’s small, mundane, so much so that it passes by unnoticed, untouched by the faults of humankind. In a brief second or a prolonged duration, time is constant. Timing is everything.