Where the Memories Lie
By: Sibel Hodge
‘Good girl. I’ll take you out later.’ I eyed the clock on the wall and wondered if Elaine would be up yet. It was quarter past seven and surgery started at eight so she should be.
I dialled her mobile number and avoided looking out of the window. Yesterday, the pull to look at the garage had been so strong I couldn’t ignore it. Today, I wanted to obliterate it from my vision.
Elaine was very sympathetic and kind and immediately agreed to cover my shift for as long as I needed it, although I told her I’d be back the following day. And Ethan would be here for Anna.
Next, I brewed a cup of tea and made myself eat a slice of toast before I passed out. Yesterday I’d hardly eaten a thing, and with all the whisky on top, my stomach felt like it was eating itself.
I tried to block out the scene from Tom’s bedroom yesterday, but it kept drifting into my head. I also had a vision of his body at the foot of the cliffs, broken and destroyed, his lifeless eyes staring out into nothingness. When Tom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s I’d read up on it in medical journals, websites, blogs and chat rooms. A lot of Alzheimer’s patients were clinically depressed and considered taking their own lives while they were still well enough to do so, but suicide rates were actually quite low, because although people may want to do it before the disease got too debilitating, very few went through with it while their lives still retained meaning and happiness. It’s hard to kill yourself because of the prospect 184
Where the Memories Lie of future suffering, when things in the here and now aren’t that bad yet. So time stretches on with a desire to hold on to life, and before they know it they’ve lost the cognitive ability to actually end things.
One woman had written herself a letter with instructions on how to take a bottle of tranquilisers she’d been keeping for the occasion.
She’d kept the letter pinned to her fridge to remind her what to do when the time came. But in the end, she’d left it too late for her to understand, and she thought it was written by someone who was trying to kill her.
Tom had never mentioned suicide, though I didn’t think that was unusual. If he had thought about it, he’d want to spare his family the knowledge that he intended to take his own life, even though I still thought it would be the kindest option to Tom. A final respite from years of degradation, destruction, frustration and pain. But he had always maintained he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, and he hadn’t wanted to prolong his life when the disease progressed, hence the DNR order he’d insisted on. So had he been so confused and agitated up there on those cliffs that he didn’t know what he was really doing? Or was he lucid in those final moments, not wanting to carry on any longer? Had he just made a snap decision to end it all before life became too much?
Or had he killed himself because of what he’d done to Katie? After he’d confessed and the truth had begun slowly coming out, had it been too hard for him to bear anymore? On some level did he fully remember what he’d done and felt so guilty that this was how he’d dealt with it?
The phone rang as I was wiping the worktop, questions run-ning over and over in my head. It was Nadia.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘Not great. You?’
‘Probably better than Ethan. He’s devastated. But you know what he’s like. He doesn’t like to talk and keeps things bottled up 185
Sibel Hodge
inside. I don’t think it’s healthy, but he’s not going to change now, is he?’
‘No, I suppose not. I’ve been trying to get him on his mobile but he’s not answering. Is he there?’
‘He’s gone for a walk. He probably doesn’t want to be disturbed.
How’s Charlotte handling it?’
‘She feels guilty that she hadn’t seen Dad for a while because she was busy with her exams, and in her spare time she wanted to see her friends. You know what teenagers are like,’ she said bitterly.