That man is no longer there. I left it far too long to let him know that without him, my life could have turned out differently. He even forgave his sister for the things she did, unlike me, who flat-out refused to think about her at all.
It’s where Colt gets his compassion from. He’s like his father in a lot of ways, and it hurts his heart talking about how his dad only sees him as a priest who visits the memory care facility to chat with patients.
“Stop staring at me.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble and drag my eyes away.
“I promise, Kins, I’m okay.”
We sit in silence for all of fifteen seconds. “How can you be okay?”
“Because there is nothing anyone can do about it. In his heart, he remembers me, his brain blocks it out.”
“I’m not sure that’s how dementia works, Colt.”
“It’s been difficult, but I’m at peace with it. He’s happy despite the illness. Whatever makes him happy makes me happy.”
“How can you be so… accepting?”
“It’s God’s will.”
Here we go. I sigh and look through the windshield as we head closer to the care home where Uncle Joe has spent the last two years. Once it got too hard for Colt to care for him. He was given pastoral control of the church a few months after Joe was hospitalized. It’s like a prison where he is, both his new home and inside his mind.
It drives me crazy to think about it. Colt has always been accepting of things when they go wrong. His cup overflows, whereas mine is mostly dry.
It’s too easy to say it’s ‘God’s will’. It’s a horrible, shitty disease that takes far too many people, and I’m dreading this.
Colt’s hands tighten on the wheel as we pull into the parking lot. There is tension in his brow as he makes his way up the steps, guiding me into what is a pleasant building.
I was expecting some kind of hospital-type environment, like something out of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest', which, now that I think of it, is kind of stupid. This isn’t a mental health facility. No one is getting lobotomies here. I hope.
Colt signs us in, and everyone seems happy to see him. I don’t miss how a few of the younger staff members’ eyes linger a little too long. It’s gross, regardless of how he looks. He is wearing his collar.
I’m focusing on the wrong things. It’s all an attempt to prepare myself. Colt leads us to a bright red door with a bell, which he rings.
“Is he locked in?”
“No, everyone has access to the room, his carer and medical staff. This is to make residents feel as though they have independence. Kins, are you alright?”
“I’m scared,” I admit.
He takes my hand, his quiet reassuring smile should calm me, but it makes me feel worse. The man who opens the door looks like Uncle Joe, he’s just older, frailer, and his eyes are distant with a moment of confusion as he stares at Colt.
“Oh, the priest is here, the one who comes and visits. I haven’t seen you in years.”
Colt visits once a week. “That’s right, Joe. May we come in?”
“We?” he turns to look at me, and his eyes widen, recognition making him smile wide.
Oh Jesus, does he know who I am? This will break Colt’s heart, even if he hides it.
“Annabeth, I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long since I saw your beautiful face.”
My heart drops like lead into my feet. I want to tell him no, I am notAnnabeth.
“Father… uh,” Joe looks away, even as he grabs my hand.
“Call me Colton,” my cousin says, dismissing Joe’s confusion.
