Page 18 of A Simple Reminder

“Miss Sophie, hi. How have you been, lovely? I’ve been waiting for you to show up today,” the woman behind the desk says sweetly, her expression warming up this sterile environment.

I return her smile gratefully. “Hi, Miss Aliyah. I’ve been good, thank you. I hope you’re feeling well,” I say, exchanging pleasantries before hurrying to the important question. “Is he ready for visitors?” I ask eagerly, hoping today will be one of his better days.

Praying for it.

The warm smile on her face shifts, the corners of her lips falling. “He had a tough night, but that doesn’t mean today won’t be agoodday.”

My heart drops all the way down to the pit of my stomach, but I continue to nod, trying to hold on to the last sliver of optimism. Like she says, that doesn’t mean today won’t be one of the good days.

I take a deep breath, clutching the pot tighter.These visits are unpredictable, but they are important.

“Okay, can I still see him?” I whisper the words, afraid she’ll say no.

Miss Aliyah nods sympathetically. “Of course, let me escort you.”

I follow her as we walk through the familiar hallways of the care facility, the scent of disinfectant mingling with the faint traces of floral air fresheners.

Each step I take feels heavy with anticipation and hope. Past visits bombard my brain–some happy, others heart-wrenching. With each room I pass, I look in to find some residents smiling among their loved ones while others stare blankly ahead.

“Here we are, room 213,” she says softly as she cradles my cheek in her hand. “Don’t be discouraged, lovely. Last week, he asked about hispetal. There’s hope for today.”

I nod again. Apparently, that’s the only response I can give as my throat tightens with emotion. Aliyah is like a beacon of light, and I’m so grateful that she’s one of my father’s caretakers. I used to be his main one, but it got too much, and I needed the help. I couldn’t handle it all by myself. Somedays, I feel like the shittiest daughter in the world that didn’t do more, try more. But I’m only human, and sometimes even the best intentions aren’t enough.

Aliyah helps me push the door open, and I step into the room, steeling myself for whatever will come.

Inside, the room is bathed in soft, golden light, just as I’d hoped. I’d asked for a space that caught the morning sun, one overlooking a garden. It wasn’t just for the aesthetics—it was for him. He’s always loved gardens, the way flowers seem to bloom just for him, the quiet beauty they offer. And there he is, exactly where I knew he’d be, seated in the chair by the window. His shoulders are relaxed, his profile turned toward the glass, as if he’s soaking in the life outside—a sanctuary of color and light that matches the quiet tenderness of his beautiful soul.

I cross the room quietly, the floor creaking softly under my steps, and I sink down in the chair next to him, setting the bag of dessert on the table.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” I whisper, my voice barely audible to my ears. “It’s Sophie.”

There’s no movement; he keeps staring out the window, lost in his own world. I try again a little louder this time.

“It’s yourpetal.” His gaze shifts to me this time, and before I get my hopes up my heart sinks further. His vibrant blue eyes, so similar to mine, are now dulled by this horrible illness. There’s nothing behind them, no spark of recognition. But today is supposed to be a good day–I desperately need it.

“You look so handsome today, Dad.”

He stares at me with blank eyes; there’s nothing behind them. He’s not reacting at all. Tears brim my eyes. This is the third visit where he doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t know how much more I can handle. This can’t be it; this can’t be how we’ll continue in life. More tears find their way to my eyes, and I try to blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. My hand trembles slightly as I reach out to touch his arm, seeking any glimmer of the father I used to know.

Then I remember the pot I’m almost crushing to my chest. “Look, I brought these for you. Remember? Forget-me-nots.”

His eyes shift to the pot in my outstretched hands, and a small smile tugs at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s there—a smile.

He smiled when I mentioned our flower.

“You used to tell me that just because they’re small, it doesn’t mean they’re insignificant.”

I look up at the ceiling, keeping the tears back. I can’t cry in front of him. I did once, which caused him so much stress that I had to leave, and I don’t want that today—not on his birthday. I want to stay as long as they allow me.

The door opens, and I turn back to find Aliyah coming in with two plates, two spoons, and a knife.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I smelled the cake and wanted to bring something you could eat it with,” she says, placing the plates on the table in front of us and looking at me with a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Dementia is a very unpredictable illness.”

“I know. I just thought today would be different.” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, trying to keep it together.

“Never lose hope.” She takes out the cake and puts it on the table, and my dad whips his head to the cake, smelling the chocolate scent. Then he looks back at me, something shimmering in his eyes, but still no words.

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