Room 255

Note: All of the factual elements of this story are true, with the exception of a few name changes. As for the "supernatural" elements, who is to say? If anyone has a friend or family member stricken with Alzheimers', and would like to post a public comment or send me a Private Message, please do so. If this story moves you, I would greatly appreciate you taking the time to vote. Happy Holidays to all the Literotica staff as well as our wonderful readers and writers!

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In the half light of dusk, Room 255 took on a ghostly hue. My father lay dying on the bed, his self imposed refusal of all food and drink having a devastating effect. Bony hands reached for the sky in a circular pattern, praying to the Gods for succor and sustenance.

No one ever thought it would have taken this long. Since April 12th, my father had steadfastly refused all nourishment, including a feeding tube. Now, in the final hours of May 1st, death was imminent. The Hospice nurse had come and come, leaving me her cell phone number "just in case." I tried to read a book and block out the shadow of what was once my father. It was painful to look at him, the beet red face aching for oxygen, the shriveled arms, the protruding ribs. He probably was no more than 100 pounds, yet at one time was a strapping 6 foot man thst weighed twice that much.

The room looked haunted in the weak light of a small lamp by the bed. On top of my father's bureau were dozens of Beanie Babies my sister had given him for good luck. On the other side of the small bedroom were two bookcases, full of the tomes he had enjoyed so much over the years, including several texts he had written himself. While he was still lucid, I had read some of his own children's books to him, enjoying the serene look on his face and even the occasional smile.

I usually did not stay for more than an hour when I visited, but something told me that this was going to be the night. He was completely unresponsive at this point, and breathing irregularly. For the first time ever, I had eaten dinner alone in the vast dining room, missing my father's gentle smile and wry sense of humor. The waitresses were very nice, coming in to sing with him a week before when they knew his time was short. Despite their generous efforts, nothing could lessen my feeling of impending loss.

A knock at the door startled me. It was ten-thirty at night and everyone in my family had departed long ago. I got up hastily, walked quickly through the tiny living room and galley kitchen, and swung open the heavy wooden door.

The soft light of the hallway illuminated dusky blue carpet. No one was there...not even a mouse, I smiled to myself. Perhaps one of the other residents of the Alzheimer's section had knocked on the door in confusion. But where had they gone? Oh well, it really didn't matter all that much I went back inside my father's cozy room, locking the door securely in case there were other "visitors".

When I walked back into the bedroom I froze. Something was different, something had changed. Instead of my father's heaving chest, there was absolutely no motion. His face had contorted into a startled expression, and had become ashen white. All through his life, my father had been a proud man, and suddenly I knew what was going on. He was too embarrassed to die with me present, and had waited until I had left the room.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy."

I felt the tears come as I pulled the wolf blanket he had loved so much over his lifeless form. I couldn't look any longer, the skeleton in the large bed bore no resemblance to the man I had called father for 87 years. Time stood still as I weeped softly, pacing around the apartment like a worried leopard until the phone rang. It was my sister and my entire body shook as I said the dreaded words for the first time.

"Daddy's Gone!"

*********************************************

My fsther had been reasonably lucky in that he had not developed Alzheimer's until he was about 80 years old. It began almost imperceptibly, a confused expression here, a halting thought there. Then, he did things that made no sense, like putting his African Violets out into the frigid March weather and being indignant when they all died. We took his car away after he left my mother off to have her hair done and never picked her up. The police found him one town over talking to himself in the parking lot of a large mall.

As my father slipped slowly into the abyss, it was as if he had died. We couldn't talk about the hobbies we had in common such as gardening and music, and whatever conversation we had was essentislly me doing the talking and he nodding and smiling. At his intellectual height, he was doing the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in a few hours and reading several books a week. As the weeks and months slipped by, he barely read at all and was only able to fill in the easiest clues of a crossword puzzle, if any at all.

Then, on that fateful day of July 5th, 2006, the unthinkable happened: my mother bled internally in her sleep due to complications from an aortic aneurysm. No one knew who had called 911 in the inky darkness at 2:30 in the morning, but apparently my mother was still alive in the ambulance. A paramedic told me she whispered "please stop my pain." Unfortunately, my Alzheimer shrouded father did not call my sister until 5:30. She rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. Apparently, a few minutes into a blood transfusion, my mother's blood pressure went too low to support life. 15 units of blood were pumped in, to no avail.

Without his rock, his fortress, his protector, my father went downhill rapidly. We thought he could live alone for awhile, but after setting three fires in the space of a few weeks. it was time for more drastic measures. My family did some research and found a wonderful Alzheimers' facility only 10 miles away from my parent's apartment. On August 31st, just seven weeks after my mother was buried, my father entered Room 255 for the first time.

He immediately made it his own, from paintings he had saved from the first house he and my mom had shared, to the many books he had collected over 40 years. On the sunny bay window he raised his favorite flower, the Portulaca or "Porchalaca" as he had called it since the lovely blooms of various hues had graced his front porch for many years.

I was very proud of my father during this period since he was successfully able to live on his own for the first time in his life. I would eat dinner with him two times a week, guiding him down the long hallways as he slowly negotiated the trek with his walker. In this fashion, he did reasonably well until the night of January 24th, 2008. No one knows exactly what happened, but in the wee hours of the morning the aides found him slumped over with a badly broken hip. Although the operation to repair his hip was successful, he was never the sane after that. Perhaps it was the anesthesia, he simply failed to thrive and in April announced he was no longer interested in eating or drinking. Despite trying Physical Therapy, my fsther never learned to walk again and was essentially bedridden. At the same time he bacame incontinent and had to wear diapers for the first time in his adult life. My family was devastated to see this once vital man reduced to living like a baby. We knew it was futile to try to force a feeding tube on him. The process would simply prolong the agony, and from the look on my father's face, it was clear he was ready to move on to the next dimension...

***************************************

The wake and funeral were surreal. My father's body was there, of course, but he had checked out long before. No one looks entirely the same in the casket, but my father looked entirely different. Even his eyebrows appeared to have been shaped an entirely different way. I spent four hours in a daze, nodding and smiling to friends and strangers alike. 100 people exactly had signed the guest book, not entirely shabby as all his 6 brothers and sisters were deceased. I wept as I threw a solitary rose on his coffin, watching the gentle winds of May scatter the petals into the void.

As is often true in these cases, the first few weeks after my father's death were bearable, since I was in a complete state of shock. Then, when reality set in, I found that I would spontaneously cry while driving or when a flower bloomed in my garden I knew he loved. Particularly irksome was the fact I couldn't share with him some exciting things happening in my life. I had been nominated for Who's Who in Education and had received a substantial raise at work.

There were a couple of strange things to report. The day my father died, a large plaster angel statue in my garden fell over into the mud. I haven't touched it since, feeling it might be bad luck. Even weirder was a patch of Portulaca which previously had reseeded every time for 10 years never came up...not a one. Did they miss my father?

As the holidays approached, I dreaded even thinking about them. All that changed when an invitaion arrived in the mail. The Alzheimer's facilty where my father stayed was putting on a holiday dinner and my family was invited! Despite my apprehension about setting foot in the building my father had passed away in, it was time to excise some demons. I decided to get a Christmas card for my father, and place it against the door of room 255. Although I had nothing to be ashamed about, I didn't tell my sisters about my plan, feeling it might upset them.

When I called the facility to confirm our reservation, I couldn't resist asking Sandy, the receptionist about the fate of room 255. Goosebumps slowly raised on my arms as she related a woman had lived in the room for a short time, but had passed away just 2 weeks ago. Room 255 was vacant now, and no one was slated to move in until January 1st.

A wonderful plan stsrted to percolate in my mind. I would go to the dinner with my sisters, then sneak away at an opportune moment and have a pleasant moment with my father in prayer, in front of Room 255. I made an elaborate Christmas card, using pictures I had found from the first 25 years of his life. Particularly telling was a photo of my mom and dad hugging dated June 5th 1943! I pasted the photos in a circle, in a rough chronology of his life, then slid the now heavy card carefully into the oversized envelope.

I was so excited about my plan, the days passed quickly. Then, once again, I was in the magnificent dining hall with my sisters and my brother-in-law. We had some wonderful remembrances about my father over pot roast and pumpkin pie. Fortuitously, many of his old friends on his floor were there and were very happy to see us. We were amazed that some did not even realize he was gone.

As the afternoon wound down, I told my sister I was going to talk to Sandy for a bit. They waived goodbye and I felt very alone standing by the receptionists' desk. After speaking pleasantries and stalling for what seemed like an eternity. I knew what I had to do. Heart pounding, I mounted the circular stairway to the second floor. It was a long walk to room 255, the last room on the right. As I reached for my father's Christmas card in my suit jacket pocket, I suddenly realized I had left it in the car. I turned to go back down the ornate hallway when my heart skipped a beat.

There was the clear sound of someone talking within Room 255.

I looked back at the heavy wooden door and noticed something I had missed the first time. Next to the gold numbers 255 was a small picture of my father from his army days. I could have sworn I had packed it, but in the confusion after his death, anything was possible.

As I focused on the talking from within, I smiled. It was merely the sound of a television! Sandy must have been wrong about room 255 being unoccupied. I stsrted to breathe regularly and my hearbeat returned to normal. Yet something inside told me to knock on the door. I had to see, to know for sure...

Scarcely breathing, I rapped on the door as loud as I dared. A stentorian voice immediately answered,

"Come in!"

My jaw dropped. The new occupant of Room 255 had a voice remarkably similar to my father! Turning the knob frsntically, I opened the door and entered the room...

*********************************

My eyes popped as I took in the scene before me. The apartment was exactly as it had been the day my father had moved in, right down to the same paintings and bookcases. My father was reclined in a vast leather chair, doing a crossword puzzle.

"Well hello! I'd knew you'd come!"

Overcome with emotion, I collapsed on top of him, hugging him with all my might.

"Hey, you're really happy to see me."

"Well yeah Dad, I thought you were..."

"Were what...? I saw confusion on his face.

"Uh, nothing, nothing." Time had been turned upside down and it was my turn to be the silent one.

"Do you like my tree?" My dad beamed proudly at the fiber-optic marvel he put up every year.

"Yeah, it's beautiful!" I was awestruck.

"How's work...I heard you got a raise."

"You what....how..." I was at a total loss for words. How could he have known?

"You know, Aunt Palma keeps me abreast of everything."

My heart sank. Palma, his youngest sister, had died in 2004.

"You saw Aunt Palma?"

"Sure, we have dinner every Saturday night."

I decided to suspend disbelief and take in the appealing dimple in his cheek, the eyes wide with wonder, the furrowed wrinkles on his forehead. Minutes turned to hours as I enjoyed my father's never ending sense of humor.

"A orta be in pictures A's beautiful to see! A orta be in pictures..."

"Oh, daddy, you are so funny!" I hugged him again, suddenly remembering the real reason for my visit.

"Daddy, I have a Christmas card for you, but I left it in the car."

"Go and get it, I can hardly wait to see what you came up with this time."

I smiled at him as I slowly closed the door, marveling at how fresh and young he looked. Then I ran down the hallway as fast as I could, feeling a new lease on life and boundless energy. In a matter of seconds, I was at my Toyota Corolla. Taking the card off the front seat, I hightailed it back to Room 255 at 20 miles an hour.

When I got to the door there was absolute silence. My hands started to shake when I saw the little picture of my father in military garb was gone. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.

"Daddy, open up, I have your card!"

Only the faint humming of an overhead light could be heard above the beating of my heart.

I knocked on the door louder and louder, unable to stop.

"Daddy, let me in, let me in, I have your Christmas card!"

I slammed my whole body against the door, hoping to break it in. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman running towards me in horror.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"My father's in there, I have to get in there!" I was completely hysterical at this point.

"There's no one in there, look, I'll show you."

With that, the night aide thrust a key in the lock and quickly shoved the door open. I pushed her aside and triumphantly held up the card I had brought for my father.

The room was completely bare. Even the wolf blanket on the bed had been removed.

"NO DADDY NO!!!!!"

I slumped to the floor, sobbing and wailing with absolute despair. THe aide tried to hug me, but I pushed her away.

"My father was in here. I talked to him!"

"I'm sure you did. Christmas is a hard time of year for everybody."

"But I did talk to him...you have to believe me!"

"I believe you did talk to him. You talked to him with your heart."

"But he was here, he was here."

The tears welled forth like tiny knives on my cheeks. I thought I would never stop sobbing. Only the gentle voice of the aide slowly permeated my grief.

"Sir, I'm sorry you have to go."

I somehow managed to get up on my own. Taking the Christmas card, I put it down on the windowsill, imagining the beautiful Portulacas that had bloomed there.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy."

The aide motioned me to the doorway. I felt like my shoes had lead in them. When I finally reached the forbidding wooden door, I looked back to where my father had been reclining in the chair. And in that instant, a miraculous thing happened. I saw my father in all the stages of my life, first holding me as a baby, then driving me to school, then attending my first piano recital, then my college graduation...

A dozen scenes flashed through my mind in the twinkle of an eye, ending with my father near death, shrouded in the wolf blanket.

"Good-bye, Daddy." I let out a sigh of pure emotion.

I watched helplessly as the room slowly disappeared, closing the door to room 255 for the last time...