Watercolor

a work by Cheryl Earles used by permission watercolor art by her mother, Mary Earles, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s 2007

As the hues of the watercolor diminish from bold shades to whispers of pale tint, the woman I know slips slowly away. Oft time she looks without seeing, hears without understanding and waivers on the brink of no longer being part of this world. Her finger is carefully placed upon the printed page, purposefully touching each word to no avail. At the end of the line they are merely a collection of images that, yet again, mean nothing. She is frightened of the monster consuming her mind and looks to me for an answer. I have no words, for I cannot utter the name of her nemesis in fear that she will hear it in a moment of clarity and realize the dreadful fate placed before her. Nor can I address it aloud because it resounds like a gavel imposing an unspeakable sentence we do not wish to hear pronounced. Myself? I am imprisoned with her living my days trying not to weep for the loss of an artist, a seamstress, a nurturer of all creatures great and small, a mother. Feigning strength, I console her with words of silken lies, because words of truth would be as cruel as her destiny. Helpless, I shall continue to watch her fade away, like a canvas left hanging in the noonday sun until the image is consumed by its rays; and I silently remain keeper of the knowledge that black darkness will soon step in where there once was color and light.