PRISONER

Day One of Captivity                                                                                      November 13, 2014

I’m not allowed to leave, she said, smiling. As if I can’t see past that smirk.  She walks around here like she owns the damn place. It’s my house! I wonder if Ronnie knows that she treats me like this… Tonight I’ll try to call him while she’s sleeping. He will rescue me. As long as she doesn’t hear me calling him… then she’ll probably get mad again. She yelled at me earlier, something about me not going upstairs. My own bedroom. My own house. And I’m not allowed to go up the stairs? Like hell! If she ever leaves today, I’m going straight up those stairs.  She also killed my dog. I need to tell Ronnie that, too. My own sweet Pepper. Dead. I miss him dearly. I can’t believe she’d do that to me. Sweet Jesus Christ, bless me. What did I do to deserve this? I’m trapped. If someone ever finds this, they will know what really happened. I’m a prisoner in my own home.  And what about my money? She’s stealing it little by little. She has a new bracelet today… she’s not fooling me! 

I’ll have to write later. 

When will she just let me be? 

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***

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Day Two of Captivity                                                                                     November 13, 2014

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Today is Thursday. I used to grocery shop on Thursdays. She brought me food today, though. She wouldn’t let me out of here even if I tried. Anyway, the food is awful and rubbery. I’d never feed someone such nasty food. I miss Pepper. He used to eat the scraps.  I left Ronnie a message. He didn’t call me back. I wonder what lies she’s told him. I need his help! Why didn’t he call back? She brought Andy with her. I know he’s been talking about me. I don’t trust him one bit. To hell with them all.  I told him to leave but he just smiled. The nerve! She told me to calm down… calm down! Me. I caught her rooting through my stuff again. Said she was looking for cleaning supplies. Doubtful.  Andy’s here to distract me, I reckon. So she can steal more money. Wouldn’t surprise me a damn bit.  

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I think she’s planning on taking me to 

***

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Day Three of Captivity                                                                                   November 13, 2014

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She said I can’t leave. I’m going to call Ronnie. He’ll know what to do.  I can’t find Pepper right now. I wonder if I forgot to feed him… I’ll tell her to do it. Since she won’t leave, she might as well be more than a bump on a log. She told me that she’s taking care of things. What does she mean? I see her looking at me when she thinks I’m distracted. Today has been horrible. Rainy and cold. Where did the weekend go? Guess we had another lost weekend. She woke me up this morning trying to give me some pill to take. Ha! Like I’m going to just eat whatever she gives me. I don't like her here. Ronnie needs to tell her to leave. Oh, sweet Ronnie… 

Please help your poor mother… 

I don’t know what’s going on… 

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***

When she finally released the breath she’d been holding, Karen felt like a deflated helium balloon, first letting out air slowly then all at once, until she seemed to crumple in on herself.  She read the final sentence the latest entry in the journal and then carefully set it down on the old, stained dresser next to a small bed.  She yanked her hand back and quickly shifted her eyes when she heard the bed sheets rustle.  Her mom’s thin body shifted, subconsciously pulling the blankets tightly around her.  Karen left the room, wearily walking into the kitchen. She reached for the thermostat and cranked the heat up a few notches. I don’t need her thinking I’m trying to freeze her to death, she thought, grimacing.  She was still shaken from reading the worn journal her mother kept at her bedside.  It used to hold fond memories, Karen remembered. Her mom always believed that writing was good for the soul, and she encouraged her two children to keep journals. She herself never went to bed without scribbling at least a few words down every night.  Looks like some things never change, Karen thought. 

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As she placed a cup of chamomile tea in the microwave, something warm to soothe the anxiety she constantly felt these days, Karen sunk down onto a stiff kitchen chair.  She held her head in her hands, still unable to face the terrible reality… her mother thought she was being held prisoner by her daughter.

***

On a bright, sticky June day, Rosie received her diagnosis.  

Alzheimer’s, the doctor had said quietly.  That’s why you’ve had slips in memory lately.  Here’s a list of ten warning signs. From what you and your daughter have told me, it seems like you’ve been experiencing several of them. 

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Rosie listened politely, nodding and slowly answering the rest of the doctor’s questions.  He gave her daughter, Karen, a yellow folder of information regarding Alzheimer’s disease, some resource pages, a couple of pamphlets, and a page of doctors specializing in dementia treatment.  He scribbled a prescription and his signature on a small piece of paper, handed it to them to give to the receptionist, and shook Rosie’s tired hand. 

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He’s just glad it isn’t him, she thought,

giving him a false smile as they left the room. 

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It wasn’t until they had made their way out to the crimson van that Rosie’s tough manner gave way to gentle sobs.  She wrung her hands as Karen wrapped her arms around her mother, providing warmth and a momentary feeling of security. It was Rosie’s biggest fear.  It was one of those diagnoses that sneak up on you, quiet-like, silently twisting its way into every aspect of your life. It fills the gaps, finds places that you didn’t know exist. It consumes you, until all that’s left of you is the disease itself.  You’re gone.  Eventually, your body follows suit and dies. 

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Rosie shuddered, clinging tightly to Karen.  

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“I’m so sorry,” her daughter whispered. 

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"Me too," Rosie whispers back.

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***

After the diagnosis, Karen decided to care for Rosie.  Her brother, Ronnie, was younger than she was, with a full-time corporate job and a personality to match it.  She loved her brother, but he lived his life in pace with the rest of America.  For Ronnie, it was keep up or get left behind.  He wouldn’t have the time or patience to deal with their ailing mother every day, and she had more time on her hands now that her kids were off at college.  

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It started with a daily visit, including reminders to take medication, bringing hot meals over, feeding the dog, Pepper, and doing other housework. Rosie constantly thanked her daughter for the help.  She told Karen that she felt herself starting to slip away.  It was little things, like misplacing her glasses or forgetting if she ate a meal. She lived alone, with only Pepper to keep her company. He was a faithful companion for her since her husband’s death ten years ago, but human company isn’t easily replaced. 

As time slipped by, in pace with her mom’s failing memory, Karen realized that daily visits weren’t going to be enough. Her mom had to spend her entire day alone, and she knew that Rosie’s physical strength wasn’t what it used to be, either.  She constantly worried about her living in her old two-story house, knowing that falling down the stairs would mean a hip replacement, or worse.  In her condition, Karen knew that Rosie would be sent off to a nursing home if she wound up in the hospital.  She had to make a decision.  

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She moved in, and Rosie felt secure knowing that Karen would be there for her, for better or worse. 

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***

A lot can change in a year Karen thought, brought back to the present by the chime of the microwave. Her tea was ready.  It took all her energy to push herself up and cross the room to retrieve it.  Her own body was beginning to feel the wear of the past year.  She hardly slept a full night anymore; her mother was notorious for waking up multiple times in the middle of the night.  Usually Rosie would absentmindedly wander around the silent, black house, checking the locks with her weathered fingers, searching for familiarity and routine.  Karen looked at her own reflection in the microwave door.  The dark bags under her eyes had gotten worse.  Her once perfectly highlighted hair showed the dark roots of neglect, and the year’s worth of stress was wearing on her soul.  As she drank her tea, praying that it worked its magic and gave her some sort of natural calm, she began to feel discouraged, thinking of everything that took place in the last year she’d been living there. 

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Her mother’s condition had become steadily worse, and now her short-term memory was virtually gone.  She doesn’t even realize I’ve lived her with her for a full year, Karen mentally sighed, hopelessly exasperated.  She tried not to be bitter, but living with her mother was becoming more frustrating, and she didn’t know what to do.   After the diagnosis, Rosie had pleaded with Karen to continue to live her own life to the fullest.  She didn’t want her disease to also be a burden on Karen, who had a family of her own.  

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My real mother’s gone now, Karen thought, as she glanced back into the dark room where her mom was sleeping.  The woman in that room was paranoid, resentful, and mean.  Karen had to constantly remind herself that Rosie was confused, clinging to familiarity as a sort of relief.  The real blow had come when Pepper had been put down a month prior.  He was thirteen years old, a small lapdog with cataracts and diabetes, and he had started having seizures.  Rosie was stubborn, insisting fearfully that he was okay.  When he could no longer keep his food down, Karen drove Rosie and Pepper to the vet.  Even after the vet’s explanation, Rosie was resistant and, afterwards, bitter.   Mom just doesn’t understand anymore. 

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Karen wondered if her mother even recognized her own daughter anymore.  She was hurt that Rosie had written those things about her, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do.  

In the morning, she would go over the same routine, explaining what she was doing at the house.  

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If she was lucky, Rosie would recognize her.  If she was lucky, she’d get her mom back for a time. 

In reality, she prepared herself for the inevitable dark, resentful look her mom gave her when the Alzheimer’s got the best of her.  Karen closed her eyes and clung to her own memories, praying that she’d have the strength to keep going.  If nothing else, she owed that to her mom’s memory. 

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As she began to fall asleep at the kitchen table, Karen heard Rosie shift again in her sleep, and she realized the hopeless truth: her mother really was the prisoner of an inescapable prison: her own mind.