You are lying in the grass and asking yourself what year it is, what season; you know it’s not winter because the grass is warm, you can hear it growing, but you don’t what time of day it is, it seems it’s getting dark, you are growing sleepy, feeling the weight of a dandelion seed on your right eyelid, feeling like sleeping, with a head heavy and wet as if it were leaking after striking the ground, is it raining?, no, it is not over yet, the days of toil and poverty are through, almost entirely gone, there is little poverty in this place, the city is quiet, maybe it’s Sunday, but the rain is red, oddly red, you came from the village to the city even though everyone told you not to go, but you had to, all you wanted was work, you wanted to work, and now this, you lay down for a quick sleep and got up and it’s already getting dark, something is buzzing in your jacket pocket, you want to turn onto your side and reach into the pocket, but you can’t, there is something wrong with your arms, something keeps on buzzing, for God’s sake, why are you carrying a transistor radio in your pocket?, you don’t know, you can feel your heart beat becoming fainter and fainter, like a ball thrown against the ground, bouncing for a while and then coming to a stop, you take a deep breath, breathe out the fear, now you are alone, they were alone too, those who ran past, you saw them bend over you asking who you were, who they should call … no, no names, you never say the names, they could question you until their damned tongues dried up and still you wouldn’t tell them; you don’t know any names, not even your own; breathe out the fear, calm down, watch your back, mom tells you, but these people didn’t come from behind, they stepped right in front of you, how long can you lie here, you know you have to wait, breathe deep, breathe deep, if only you could feel your legs, you need to wait for your strength to return, you want to shout for help, for someone to call mom, but what could she do, you need the commander to sort you out, if only it would stop raining, nights in the city are not cold, but still, you can’t spend the night in the grass, calm down, you should take something for the pain, but you never take anything, almost never, except that time you took a bag of sweets, only one bag, but at the exit they searched you from head to toe and found it, you feel the pain in your chest again, no, you didn’t take anything except that one bag, and they took that away from you as well; the heart pumps adrenaline through your body, you are growing tired, but you can’t fall asleep, even if you’re tired, so tired, don’t fall asleep, just wait, everything will be all right if only the right people come for you, how long have you been lying here?, you know this can take a few hellishly long minutes, time is passing, it will run out when the body runs out of adrenaline; you see a car at the edge of your vision, you see the tyres and wheels, light breaking and reflecting off the aluminium rims, if you could move closer, you could see the reflection of your face in the bodywork and it would tell you who you are – it is an old model, warped-looking, you used to see them back home, the streets of your village were full of corroded metal, you and your friends would take guesses on what colours were hidden beneath the thick crust of dust – but you are alone in this strange city, afraid, the anxiety spreading slowly, voices coming from above, an unknown woman’s voice calls to you, fragile hope is crumbling you into the dust of the village road, you shrink into yourself, it’s getting dark, the commander once told you that if you heard suspicious voices at dusk, never wait, crouch behind a bush and hide, you smile, thank you, Commander, for the advice, your eyes are open wide, you hold your breath not to give away your position, the moments drag on, the piercing wail of sirens in the distance slowly draws closer and closer, suddenly rough male figures rise around you, talking in a strange, clipped language, it’s dark, you can’t see properly, someone slams a car door, the sound is like the bolt of a rifle snapping shut, high above, on a balcony, a lookout crouches, craning his neck and sending short warning cries down towards you, the men bend over you, the commander is dead, they say, and you seem to leap to your feet and run, as though a cloud of bullets is raining down on you, as though shouting, roaring, gasping, you can’t breathe any more, you tumble into a black bag and disappear.
On the lawn where you were lying just moments ago stands a bench where your grandchildren sit; the grass smells of dew, droplets caught in the seed heads defy the sun and wind. Don’t be afraid. Your daughters, sons, and your grandchildren think of you and miss you.
The thoughts of a person with dementia remain, for the most part, inaccessible to us. As observers, we can only imagine how they unfold, and this story portrays this in an original way. It offers a glimpse into the very essence of dementia.
This story will undoubtedly help many relatives and friends who are, or one day will be, faced with dementia in someone close to them. It may help them gradually understand that this is a process of saying goodbye, and at the same time the beginning of grieving for a loved one who is disappearing before their eyes.