God help me, but he seemed to be having one of his better days. I would never leave him by himself otherwise. But it’s good to let him do a few things independently.

When was the last I saw him?
Well, he made himself a cup of tea. Likes it when he sits down for his Sudoku. He’s very particular about that. Says it exercises his mind. Delay the inevitable. Yes so, he made himself a cup. But he forgot to turn off the stove. He was a little upset about that. It’s getting worse, Emma, he says, one of these days I’m going to burn the house down. Nonsense, I say. Well, then he sat down for his Sudoku. That usually gives me a half hour window for laundry. I come back. The tea’s half drunk. The back door is open. I had a bad feeling right then, a really bad feeling. So I run out looking for him. Checked the garden… the drive… up and down the lane… checked with Mrs. Franklin next door… He’s strolled off by himself before, but usually he just goes down the lane.

After an hour searching I got terribly worried. And that was when I saw his boat out on the lake. Empty. God help me, that’s when I dialed 911.

Was he having suicidal thoughts? I don’t know what he was thinking. I told you – he has Alzheimer’s.

 

lake


Written for Sunday Photo Fiction Jan 29th 2017 photo by C. E. Ayr

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7 thoughts on “The Search

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