Edmund, Are You There?

No Kiss, No Socks

A phantom of despondency sank into the other side of Lucille’s bed.

Where warmth once lived, an imprint of despair now settled under the sheets. Just when she thought she could feel a trace of him there, the prevalent void withered her frail heart. Every beat another beating.

Before his death, Edmund and Lucille had woven through their morning routine like clockwork. She never worried about when the hands of the clock would stand still.

Every morning, he pampered her with a pair of fresh linen socks, rolled up into a tight capsule of sorts, a habit he could never break from his military days.

“No kiss, no socks,” he would tease, wiggling the socks over her with a smirk.

She would play morning tunes until the smell of coffee pulled her to the kitchen, just in time to make fun of his favorite morning show, The Daily Catch.

“If you’ve got a line, I’ve got the time for a Daaaily Caaatch,” Edmund would croon along with the corny beat.

That’s just how it was. Their habits were a structured exchange of gifts to each other at that point. He always brewed the morning, and in return, she boiled the evening tea.

Now, when she dangled her feet over the side of the bed, waiting for her socks and a kiss, they grew numb from the cold. The coldness of it all.

Edmund, Is That You?

She rolled over only to be faced with a handful of dried flowers barely dangling from the wall.

“It’s a way to honor memories,” her daughter-in-law claimed, as she not so elegantly pinned them next to the framed photo that she and Edmund had picked out from the neighborhood garage sale.

“I think 48 years of marriage would suffice for that,” Lucille thought, but she honestly didn’t have enough energy to argue the sentiment.

Part of her envied the tangled network of flowers.

“ Everyone sees you have been plucked and pierced. No one expects you to just keep blooming anymore,” she thought.

As she leered at the eyesore with resentment, a strange fragrance began to emanate from the small bouquet.

“This is important,” her brain told her.

The shriveled assortment absorbed all of her attention. Her senses became enchanted. She caught the scent of tobacco…oak moss… sandalwood.

The smell of December 18th, their wedding night. Of the only safe embrace after hearing the diagnosis. Of 48 years of family vacations, petty arguments, home decorations, and deep devotion that could be expressed with one look.

The undeniable scent of Edmund’s cologne.

“Edmund, is that you?” she whispered.

She stood up, reaching around her, as if trying to feel the air. She felt a weight on her shoulders as the smell became so overpowering that spots began to invade her vision. Her eyes started rolling behind the top of her eyelids. She felt a darkness taking over her. She stumbled out the door, gasping for air but simultaneously wanting to be suffocated by the musk.

It was a struggle just to pick up the phone.

Show Me a Sign

“Oh, wow..” her daughter, Sammy, hesitated on the phone.

“I’m telling you, I KNOW that smell, and it was so strong,” Lucille tried to explain.

“Well, you never know..” Sammy replied with another awkward pause.

“Oh, he was your father, too. I know, I shouldn’t be bringing this up to you,” Lucille sniffled with her hands on her forehead.

“Maybe you just need some rest,” Sammy suggested, more like a demand than a question.

" Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I do need rest, I’m going to let you go and go take a little nap,” Lucille lied.

Instead, she was going to write down everything she had remembered about the flowers. But truth or not, it’s not like Lucille could ever prove anything. She would have to find proof.

Lucille disarranged the whole house searching for the cologne, for anything.

“Show me a sign,” Lucille transmitted to whoever, or whatever, she was praying to.

Yet, she couldn’t find anything that could help her make sense of what she knew to be true. That Edmund had never truly left her side.

She collapsed onto the bed until exhaustion overtook her.

Door to Something Else

“Wake up,” something whispered to her. It was Edmund’s spirit again. In a haze, her heart pulled her to the kitchen. Her face grew pale. Morning coffee was already brewing.

Tears started to well up in her eyes. She was so lost in emotions that the knock on the door shocked her. She jumped like she had something to hide. Edmund was always the one to greet the company. She cracked open the door, yet only the breeze greeted her.

“Hello?” she murmured. The outside air felt warped somehow. Was it gas she was smelling? The stairs seemed to stretch out before her as though she wasn’t meant to step on them.

She slammed the door shut and started pacing back and forth.

Rage and confusion flung every object from the table to the floor. Lucille didn’t hear a thing. She saw the remote ping pong off the floor and spin around and around, only quickening in speed as it twirled.

“If you’ve got a line, I’ve got the time for a Daaaily Caaatch,” the television boomed.

Lucille froze, her gaze locked on the flashing montage of The Daily Catch’s host, George Seymour, casting a fishing line into the crashing waves.

The door demanded attention as the knocking grew louder, almost deafening.

“Is this the door to death?” she wondered.

Am I dead, and Edmund is waiting on the other side?

Light spilled in as the door began to open. Lucille held her breath.

“Mom! Why did you close the door?” Sammy’s voice cut through the room, looking confused.

Lucille staggered back. “Sammy? What are you doing here? I thought.. I thought..”

“Don’t you remember?” Sammy began to say.

“You were Edmund!” Lucille yelled. “Why aren’t you Edmund?!”

Hopelessness swam in Sammy’s eyes. The two women went back and forth.

“Just come on,” Sammy sighed, lightly pushing Lucille towards the deathly door.

“No, he’s here!”

“Mom, please!”

Lucille’s feet started inching towards the door when she caught a glimpse of the bedroom. On the foot of the bed was a pair of fresh linen socks rolled up, military style.

Lucile pointed with a trembling hand.

“They’re just socks, Mom!” “He’s here. He’s here!” Lucille kept repeating.

Tremors took over Lucille’s whole being.

“EDMUND HELP ME! SHOW YOURSELF!” “EDMUND PLE—”

Waking Up

Lucille woke up with an all-encompassing headache, back home in room 419.

Same budget-friendly floral painting on the stucco wall.Same jar of peaches on the windowsill.

Nurse James stuck his head in, “I’ll be right with you Lucy,” he sang.

Lucille waited for him to pass before she scampered to the door, but something stopped her.

A paper labeled “Mrs. Clement” peeked out from the tray attached to the side of the bed. Her left ring finger itched. Slowly, she read the words.

Daily Snapshot:

Name: Lucille Clement

Comforts: Lavender lotion, familiar music, simple routines

Evening Wind-Down: Puzzle, soft lighting, quiet TV

Patient Profile: Female, Dementia Diagnosis

The clipboard clattered to the glossy tiled floor, leaving a ringing in her ears. Lucille’s brain slowed down.

It was her.

The cologne, the Daily Catch, the coffee, the socks…all her doing. She recalled herself rolling the socks, a poor excuse compared to Edmund’s, but attempting nonetheless. Setting the coffee to brew… recording his favorite shows. It. was. all. her.

Her denial. Her coping.

A flicker of realization blazed in her mind. Her Edmund really was … gone. And she didn’t know how to endure it. Her arms turned fiery red, and her skin started burning. Where was she? Sounds escaped her mouth without permission as though her body were being hijacked. Thin specks of blood rose out of her skin.

Nurse James stormed in. “Lucy! Stop! You’re scratching yourself! Lucy! Lu-”

The Daily Catch

The next day, Lucille observed her bandages in the nursing home lobby.

Nurse James was at his usual spot, setting out small cups of happiness on his sterile tray.

“Good morning,” she waved at Nurse James.

“Morning, Lu!” he replied. “Oh, someone left these for you,” he smiled, handing her a pair of rolled-up linen socks.

“Weird,” she shrugged.

Lucille’s friend, Carol, suddenly appeared in front of her face.

“Are you coming to the dining hall?”

“Oh, no. I am waiting for someone. Lucille waved Carol on with a smile.

Once the room began to clear, Lucille reached for the remote and clicked on The Daily Catch.

Edmund would probably be there any minute now.