COMMENDED,
SIDERIUS LONGER FLASH FICTION
COMPETITION, 2024
SIDERIUS LONGER FLASH FICTION
COMPETITION, 2024
The faint scent of lavender rises as I open the suitcase. Rose always insisted on putting it away with one of those heart-shaped sachets she made after drying the lavender growing along our side fence so it was fresh next time we needed it.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, willing time to turn back to those days when we travelled in our little caravan to every corner of the country. Happy days. Wonderful memories but I struggle with them today. Everything is tainted by this morning’s harsh words and recriminations.
I brush a tear from my cheek and begin packing the suitcase. Carefully. Rose used to admonish me for the way I packed my suitcase when we travelled. I’d take much more than I needed, crush everything in and it would erupt like a volcano when I opened it again at our destination, socks, shirts and underwear flying in all directions. Rose would shake her head and then dissolve into laughter. She’s not laughing now.
She is angry at me. Accusing me of deserting her, of finding someone else. There’s no one else. There could never be anyone else. It was always Rose from the first time I spotted her across a crowded room at the art exhibition. But now I have to do this. Things have changed and I’ve put it off for far too long.
I fold every item neatly, trying to ignore the reminders they hold, lest I break down. I need to be strong. The woollen jumper we bought in the high country, the T-shirt from the Gold Coast and the socks with pictures of penguins from Phillip Island. Each one is a snapshot from another time. A time we can never get back.
Better to have loved and lost, than… No, it’s not true! And, Rose is still here even if the life we had is gone.
I spy her charm bracelet on the dressing table. More memories. I lift it to my lips then stow it into one of the suitcase pockets.
Closing the suitcase, I go into the lounge room where Rose sits on the edge of her recliner chair pulling petals from a daisy we picked on our morning walk.
She loves me. She loves me not. Alzheimer’s has claimed her mind and body. Sometimes she says she hates me but the earlier tantrum is gone and she looks up at me now with laughing blue eyes. She’s forgotten the outburst just as she’s forgotten so many things. She needs better care now than I can give. And I’ll visit every day.
‘Are we going on a holiday, Bobby?’
‘Yes, Rose. A holiday, to a very special resort.’
She jumps up. Petals strew and she claps her hands before shuffle dancing out to the car.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, willing time to turn back to those days when we travelled in our little caravan to every corner of the country. Happy days. Wonderful memories but I struggle with them today. Everything is tainted by this morning’s harsh words and recriminations.
I brush a tear from my cheek and begin packing the suitcase. Carefully. Rose used to admonish me for the way I packed my suitcase when we travelled. I’d take much more than I needed, crush everything in and it would erupt like a volcano when I opened it again at our destination, socks, shirts and underwear flying in all directions. Rose would shake her head and then dissolve into laughter. She’s not laughing now.
She is angry at me. Accusing me of deserting her, of finding someone else. There’s no one else. There could never be anyone else. It was always Rose from the first time I spotted her across a crowded room at the art exhibition. But now I have to do this. Things have changed and I’ve put it off for far too long.
I fold every item neatly, trying to ignore the reminders they hold, lest I break down. I need to be strong. The woollen jumper we bought in the high country, the T-shirt from the Gold Coast and the socks with pictures of penguins from Phillip Island. Each one is a snapshot from another time. A time we can never get back.
Better to have loved and lost, than… No, it’s not true! And, Rose is still here even if the life we had is gone.
I spy her charm bracelet on the dressing table. More memories. I lift it to my lips then stow it into one of the suitcase pockets.
Closing the suitcase, I go into the lounge room where Rose sits on the edge of her recliner chair pulling petals from a daisy we picked on our morning walk.
She loves me. She loves me not. Alzheimer’s has claimed her mind and body. Sometimes she says she hates me but the earlier tantrum is gone and she looks up at me now with laughing blue eyes. She’s forgotten the outburst just as she’s forgotten so many things. She needs better care now than I can give. And I’ll visit every day.
‘Are we going on a holiday, Bobby?’
‘Yes, Rose. A holiday, to a very special resort.’
She jumps up. Petals strew and she claps her hands before shuffle dancing out to the car.
