Textbook.

She had promised him, long, long ago that he’d be the one she’ll never forget, come what may.
It seemed a lifetime ago, how they were curled up on a mat, watching the sun set in the winter, drinking wine and Pinacolada. They’d spent the day playing beach volleyball with their friends and throwing each other into the water. The evening was spent paragliding and speed boating, and at twilight, he put a ring on her finger, not being able to wait till they reached the fanciest rooftop restaurant for dinner. They’d been together exactly 6 years before that, making them a classic high school romance.
Two kids, a house with a White Picket Fence, and a dog later, they were more content than most of their friends put together.
But it all started to change 5 years ago, with a small accident of which he’d have no recollection, if not for the MRI she had to go through. A momentary lapse of judgement, he’d have called it. We’re not getting younger!
Then 3 years ago, she forgot her way home from work. She lost her chauffeur, and tried to walk home. A couple of hours of torment later, her friend found her outside the supermarket, trembling, without her jacket. Since then, she was urged to carry an identity card with her, wherever she went.
A year ago, she walked out of their house, searching for their daughter, forgetting she was in Turkey, and an hour later, he was called from the hospital. She was told about the seriousness of her condition, and as he put her to bed, she asked him, “Will I forget you one day?”
He’d never felt so small in his textbook life. A year of nurses, adult diapers, and tantrums later, he was back in the hospital room, hoping that the sun came up, and filled the heartbreak shaped hole in his existence.
He thought of how every anniversary, every happy and content moment in their little universe seemed to lead up to her forgetting him, as she’d done just a couple of days ago. He thought of how both of them cried when she had to be told who he was and how he knew that the inevitable was near, and she was the rarest of the rare, not just for him, but for her earliest symptoms to have appeared at 36. He thought of how in their glorious young days they thought they’d grow together to be 90 and how he now hoped she would pass, than see that look in her eyes, like everything around her has shattered.
As her eyes opened and she searchingly looked at his face, he knew it had happened. She had forgotten who he was. He wanted to laugh at all the times that she’d promised him he’d be the one she’d never forget: apparently she’d never thought of the literal.
A week later, as they held hands seemingly knowingly that this was it, she passed away in her sleep, and he felt relief and a sense of content that only she could give him, while the world around him cried for their loss.

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About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

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