The Woman in The Mirror

This piece is dedicated to my mom who suffered with Alzheimer's ..she unknowingly gave us insight into this disease...

A woman stood in front of the mirror, staring blankly at her reflection. It was a familiar face, one she had seen everyday, millions of times in her life. Yet, today, it felt like she was looking at a stranger.

She furrowed her brow and tilted her head side to side as if trying to make sense of who she was seeing.

The woman in the mirror copied her every movement.

Who is this woman and how had she found her way into my house…and into my bathroom even?

Deep creases around her mouth and eyes, suggested she was an older woman. Her dark grey hair was unkempt, flat at the back with greasy strings at the front. Her clothes in multiple layers in the wrong order; some with a variety of patterns and some clothes for a variety of seasons. They were all stained and wrinkled suggesting perhaps she may be homeless.

Suddenly, the woman felt a pang of overwhelming sadness in her chest as she realized that this WAS her reflection. This is what she looked like now. She used to be classy and stylish with coiffed hair and shimmering lips – what happened? How did I become this woman in the mirror?

Looking closer she could see hints of her former self…now just a shadow of who she was.

As she continued to study her reflection, the horror of her reality subsiding, but another sense of confusion washed over her. This was her house wasn’t it? Perhaps, this was not my bathroom?

She couldn’t quite place her whereabouts or how she got here and what purpose did she have here? The green flowered wallpaper was old and torn in areas along the seams, it felt familiar yet vaguely unfamiliar all at the same time. The fixtures and furniture looked like they belonged to someone else.

Perhaps they belonged to the man in the chair. He sits and talks to me as though I should know him. Sometimes, he looks sad and sometimes he gets angry when I don’t respond. I feel a pressure to know him… but I can’t recall him. He must be talking nonsense; how can I be married to him for over 50 years and not know him? I must keep my eye on him, that man in the chair.

She shook her head as if to clear the fog on her brain. Why couldn’t she remember anything anymore?

Suddenly, as if a light bulb had been switched on, she knew instantly in that moment that she was losing her memory and it frightened her all over again, just like it had frightened her the day before and the day before that and….

She had always prided herself on her sharp mind and quick wit even her ability to remember the smallest of details and the largest of words. But now…words failed her. They disappeared before they left her lips.

The woman remembered; this IS me! She was looking at herself. She knew that now but couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman in the mirror really wasn’t her. She must be an imposter. Snippets of memory popped in and out of her head; the doctor, her kids, the man in the chair, her diagnosis.

Her memory was fading, slowly…ever so slowly but fast enough to notice. It was as though someone had found a string from the tapestry of her mind and memories and was tugging at it thread by thread until all her knowledge and memories that were once stitched in perfect focus were now becoming a jumbled mess of colored thread on the floor of her mind.

She tried frantically to remember what she had been doing prior to catching a glimpse of the woman in the mirror – but it was like trying to catch and keep a snowflake in the palm of her hand.

If she stood silent and still enough, perhaps she could remember who she was and where she belonged. Surely, someone other than the man in the chair could remind her and give her insight of who she was.

But as she stared, the woman in the reflection was unforgiving, staring back unyielding and appeared to be safeguarding her own secret thoughts and memories.

Tears welled up and spilled out her eyes. The woman in the mirror copied the exact drops spilling out and rolling down her cheeks.

Both seem to be realizing they were losing themselves. Their memories, their identities…everything that made them who they were, was slipping away.

The woman clutched her chest with both hands, one overlapping the other…trying to hold on to something, anything, but it was of no use. Even the woman in the mirror looked tired and defeated.

With heavy hearts, the women turned away from each other and disappeared from the mirror. As the woman walked slowly out of the room, she didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter.

She was lost and there was no going back.

** author's note: please read, The Man in The Chair it is mom's progression from my dad's perspective