The Coming Tsunami

By Mike Penney

Like many offspring, Paul Giessen and Anna May Noble, are drawn back into decisions regarding their respective elderly fathers in their later years. Long ago they were lovers and expected to wed but – inexplicably – split up instead. For over three decades thereafter only a deep and seething hatred for each other remains.
Partially because of a troubled father-son relationship, Paul Giessen believes his father, Tim, should be immediately dispatched to a nursing home upon learning he has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. His mother Wanda disagrees, believing such action premature and so she cares for Tim at home. In the months that follow, Wanda’s chronic heart condition deteriorates and surgery becomes a necessity.
After the operation, Wanda asks on her deathbed that Anna May Noble promise never to let Paul “throw his father away like an old shoe” – by dumping him in an institution and forgetting him forever. Telling no one of her promise to “Auntie” Wanda, Anna May and her father Charley then take care of Tim Giessen – until Charley Noble’s unusual and embarrassing dementia renders him incapable of caring for his best friend.
From there, thwarting Paul Giessen’s efforts to quickly dispose of his father in an institution, Anna May quits her job to take care of “Uncle” Timmy fulltime and fulfill her deathbed promise to “Auntie” Wanda, even as she must simultaneously deal with her father Charley and his socially devastating dementia. Paul Giessen refuses to relent, yet in the end Paul and Anna May must confront what came between them so many years ago and somehow do the right thing for their fathers, Tim and Charley.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Penney
• Release date: Oct 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465741172

Mike Penney

Mike Penney was born in Boulder, Colorado, the setting for THE COMING TSUNAMI, and attended the University of Colorado in Boulder where he studied Philosophy and Literature. Following college, he lived for decades in many locales throughout the West, including California, Washington State, and especially Hawaii, where BEHIND THE GATES WITH THE RICH AND HAPPY 1% was generated. Presently, Mike Penney once again calls Colorado his home.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Anna May Noble knew better: she shouldn’t worry about the old man. But the world was upside down and she cursed him for implicitly tasking her with righting it.

She knew she shouldn’t worry – but was nearly frantic about him.

She hated it when he did this. He was gone again, maybe lost or in trouble. She had absolutely no clue where he was, or when he’d be back. And she needed to know – especially now.

Brushing back blond hair still kept long, Anna May found herself tempted to punch the numbers for his cell phone yet again, but decided against it. There was no point either in going by his house again, for he and his old pickup truck had surely taken off somewhere. But where could he be?

She already left him innumerable messages since she’d received the bad news and at this point one more would probably be useless. He simply wasn’t getting – or responding – to the calls. What in the world had happened to him?

She attempted to shift gears by concentrating on the invoices in front of her. After only a few minutes, Anna May knew that wouldn’t work. She rose instead and marched from the back office of the small electrical contracting and sales shop, then through the showroom with the intent of making her way outside. Their latest sales assistant, an overweight but friendly girl named Rhonda, was pitching ceiling fans to a customer and didn’t acknowledge Anna May’s exit.

For a spring day along the Front Range in early May it was as beautiful as it could get. Temperatures today in Denver were predicted to make it into the high seventies and it nearly felt that warm already at mid-morning. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen anywhere in the baby blue skies of Colorado, but Anna May hardly noticed. The warmth felt good though, and the fresh air was invigorating.

All her life she’d looked forward to such days, even if anymore they left her with a sourness of mental indigestion. Crisp, scintillating days like this should be full of hope and promise: that’s what spring was all about, wasn’t it? But for years they more reminded Anna May that her life had been one of going nowhere since him. Even so, when these moods came on, she tried to console herself by imagining she was getting better at going nowhere – wasn’t she?

But dammit, what the hell did her life matter at a time like this? The real worries were about the old man. Or maybe at this point, she should say about both old men.

Five minutes, maybe fifteen minutes later, Anna May returned to the back office and the paperwork she was behind on. The voice mail light was blinking on the office phone so Anna May entered her code. It was from Mack Larsen, the head electrician and owner of the contracting business. He said he was sending one of the workers to pick up another roll of wire and some conduit from the warehouse. He also asked Anna May about the permits for the job they were supposed to start later in the week.

She smiled and shook her head. She’d told Mack yesterday that she had the permits in hand and there was no problem starting the new job this week. He must have just forgotten. Again she chuckled, thinking he was getting about as bad as – no, suddenly that wasn’t very funny.

Impulsively she reached for the phone and punched in the numbers for the old man’s cell phone. Listening to the all-too-familiar ringing, Anna May sighed in frustration while again wondering if she should leave yet another message. Caught unawares, she was startled when a scratchy and grizzled voice came over the line.

Hello? it said.

Is that you, Dad? asked Anna May.

Hello, hello?

Dad, is that you? Anna May asked again. She listened, but the line seemed to have gone dead. Dad, are you there?

There was nothing for a few seconds, then, Anna, can you hear me?

Yes, Dad, I can hear you. Where are you?

The reception was fading in and out and again there was nothing on the line. A moment later the light on Anna May’s office phone blinked off and the call was lost. She tried to redial the old man’s cell phone but it immediately went to voice mail.

Holy crap, she murmured under her breath. At least he was alive, but damn all these phones to hell! And yet there was nothing to be done about it, for they were the way we conducted our lives.

A few minutes later she tried again and this time got through immediately.

Hello, Dad.

Anna, sorry, he said, but the reception isn’t that good out here. I’m getting close to town, so it should get better.

What town, Dad? asked Anna May. Where in the world are you? I’ve been trying to get through to you for days. Didn’t you get my messages?

Messages? he replied, but the rest of whatever said was lost in the sketchy reception.

When she could hear him again, her father was telling her he hadn’t checked any messages at all. Where I’ve been there’s no service, so I just left the cell phone in the truck, he explained.

Where are you? wondered Anna May. What have you been doing?

Charley Noble laughed. Well, I’m almost in Vernal, of course.

Vernal, Utah? asked Anna May.

It’s the only Vernal, I know, her father replied.

What are you doing out there?

Hiking and camping. Just seeing what I could find and taking pictures.

Pictures of what? Anna May asked, but instantly she knew. And just as immediately, she steeled herself for what was coming next.

Well, you know Anna, it’s just the same old story about one old dinosaur looking for all the others, Charley explained with great pleasure in his voice. She could almost see the fatuous grin on his face.

Okay, she slowly and very patiently replied, I get the picture.

Her eyes had been rolling even so, as she listened to yet another of his repetitive jokes. The old man’s hobby for the last couple years had reverted to an almost juvenile fascination with dinosaurs in what had been their natural habitat around the Colorado-Utah border. She should have known with the warming spring weather he’d be out tromping around in the backcountry once more looking for bones and footprints. But dammit, at the very least, he might tell her where he’s going.

Abruptly, Anna May caught herself. She snapped back upon why she had so desperately been attempting to contact her father. He hadn’t received her messages so obviously he didn’t know the bad news yet. She tried to break it as gently as possible.

Dad, Anna May said cautiously, you didn’t get any of my voice mails so let me tell you what’s happened.

Anna May continued: Auntie Wanda couldn’t get a hold of you so she called and said Uncle Timmy has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

There was no reply from her father so Anna May repeated, Did you hear me Dad? Uncle Timmy’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

So? was all Charley Noble said into the phone.

Dad, don’t you get it? Anna May was astounded. He has Alzheimer’s and Auntie Wanda was a wreck on the phone.

Aw, he’ll be okay, her father said almost insouciantly, and so will she.

An edge came into the daughter’s voice as she reiterated, He has Alzheimer’s disease, Dad. Doesn’t that register?

Aw, don’t worry about Timmy lad, Charley said. It’s all in his mind.

Anna May could usually put up with her father’s warped sense of humor but not now. Her silent and lengthy pause was all she needed to convey to Charley that she wasn’t exactly pleased by his ill-conceived and inept attempt at humor.

Dad, she said sternly, reinforcing the severity of her previous silence, That was not kind, nor was it appropriate.

But it was true, Charley said with a chuckle.

Dad, Anna May said without hesitation, Uncle Timmy is one of your oldest and dearest friends.

One of the oldest, surely Charley allowed, again chuckling into the phone, and as ornery a snot-kopf as ever there was.

Anna May sighed in annoyance.

Dad, you’re not getting it, are you? she asked. Uncle Timmy has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease: he’s been handed a death sentence.

Life is a death sentence, was Charley’s simple retort.

This time the silence from Anna May went on and on, despite the reception being excellent. Why was it always like this with him? Half the time he could frustrate her to no end; the other half she felt compelled to play catch-up in a battle of wits that endured since she was a child. If it wasn’t for the safe places they always found for each other, the two halves for Anna May could never have equaled all the love and adoration she felt for him.

Charley, for his part, didn’t say anything either for a time in order to permit the moment to pass. Sometimes you had to allow the young folks to have it their way, then let them figure it out best for themselves as they went forward. When it was finally right, his tone was a trifle more conciliatory.

Anna darling, Timmy lad is still there and in reality things didn’t change from the day before the diagnosis to the day after the diagnosis, Charley asserted. For a good part of my life I’ve been watching him get old – that poor bugger – and for a while it’s seemed like he’s getting an older brain just a little faster than some might expect. But don’t you worry: that ornery old curmudgeon Timothy Giessen will be okay in the end.

His words had a softening effect on his daughter, but Anna May was still very sad for Uncle Timmy – and Auntie Wanda.

Dad, you’ve got to go see him in any event, she made him promise, as soon as you get back into town. Auntie Wanda was really upset when she called and I don’t know how Uncle Timmy is taking it. I didn’t want to jump in until you could be there.

As soon as I get back, Charley assured his daughter, I’ll take a trip up to Boulder. And don’t you worry, kid, Timmy’s more resilient than he knows.

Anna May smiled into the phone. Even if she’d passed the fifty year milestone herself, it was always refreshing to have someone around to call her kid and make her imagine, even if momentarily, that she was still young.

Backing off, easing away from the emotional intensity she’d felt up to that point, Anna May asked her father a few questions about his latest dinosaur hunting junket until the old man came to the same conclusion he made use of for many tales of his adventures.

And yep, he was saying, in the end it was just me, the stegosaurus, and the allosaurus – you know – the same old story.

And the same old story it was. Of course, sometimes the same old story would conclude with: in the end it was just me, the mountain lions, and the bears. Or sometimes it might be, in the end it was just me, the marmots, and the porcupines Or maybe, in the end it was just me, the Indian scouts, and the cowboys.

In the end it was always the same old story, or stories, that Anna May had heard time and again. They were harmless certainly, but by their repetitive nature they nearly tended to drive a sane person toward the brink. Yet, at this point in time, something about her father and his telling of tales was terrifically reassuring.

* * *

Although Anna May had to get back to work, a call to Auntie Wanda was imperative.

Auntie Wanda was not, of course, a blood relative; but what else would you call someone who had been your surrogate mother since pre-teen years when your own mother was killed in a car accident? Besides that, both families had always been so close because of their fathers’ friendship that the second-generation children always called the other parents Auntie or Uncle.

The phone line to the old Marine Street house in Boulder was busy the first time Anna May tried it, yet on the second attempt she got through.

Briefly she told her Auntie that she had contacted Charley, had informed him of his best friend’s diagnosis, and how he couldn’t be found because he’d been on his first dinosaur hunt of the season.

We should have guessed that’s where he’d be, eh gal? replied Auntie Wanda.

The leaden tone of the old woman’s voice told Anna May she was relieved Charley’s whereabouts were a known commodity, but clearly was much more worried about her husband. Accordingly, Anna May asked after Uncle Timmy’s welfare.

A direct answer wasn’t forthcoming. The whole thing unnerves me; I don’t know what to think.

What do you mean?

Well, when I talk about getting a second opinion – I never liked that Dr. Gage – all Tim mumbles about is ‘other alternatives.’

’Other alternatives?’ repeated Anna May. What’s that supposed to mean?

I don’t know what it means, the old woman replied helplessly. He won’t say anymore than that and it scares the bejesus out of me. His mood gets so dark and it all seems so ominous, that it gives me the willies. And I don’t know what to do.

I suppose it’s understandable that one doesn’t get a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s everyday, Anna May rationalized. Have you mentioned it to anyone else?

Lordy no! exclaimed Auntie Wanda. I don’t think it’s even something I should tell my kids right now. Tilda, with all her problems with my poor grandson Thomas, doesn’t need any extra baggage beyond the diagnosis to weigh her mind down. And Paul, well, Paul hasn’t found the time to call back even after all the messages I left.

The old woman exhaled painfully and left it there, but Anna May couldn’t help thinking spitefully how goddam typical that was of him. But why should he care anyway? It’s only his father that his mother was calling about. Simultaneously, Anna May blessed Auntie Wanda for discretion in sidestepping any further mention of the son to her – even as she knew the old lady longed to – because of events, and relationships, in the past.

If it’s any consolation, Anna May suggested, moving on, maybe my dad can help shake out an extra smile or two from Uncle Timmy, even under the current circumstances.

I hope you’re right, Auntie Wanda said dubiously, but I guess if anyone can do it, it would be Charley Noble.

A while after the two women hung up, and a while after Anna May had ruminated maybe more than she should over Tim and Wanda Giessen’s situation, she was half-hoping her father might cheer her up as well on his return.

Overwhelmed she felt again with worry and concern for Uncle Timmy – and Auntie Wanda. Being on the planet was always a gamble, but this was a terrible way to lose a wonderful life.

So sad it was and, all the worse, there was one thing she could bet on: he wouldn’t raise a finger to help his own father.

Chapter 2

It wasn’t until Wanda Giessen left a message for her son Paul pleading how desperate his father’s medical condition was that he finally called her back, presumably from his one of his offices in Silicon Valley.

So really, how ‘desperate’ are things? Giessen sneered into the phone.

Your father’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, Paul, the mother said quietly to the son. Or more specifically, ‘probable’ Alzheimer’s disease – although I’m not so comfortable with the doctor or his diagnosis.

Giessen requested that she clarify herself. What’s this ‘probable’ nonsense? Is it, or is it not, Alzheimer’s disease?

Wanda Giessen took a moment to explain to her estranged son what Dr. Gage, in his coldly clinical way, had explained to them on the day of the diagnosis. He’d stated that it was possible and more likely probable in the sense that all tests and symptoms indicated a propensity toward Alzheimer’s disease. One couldn’t be a hundred percent certain until the brain might be examined at autopsy, but a diagnosis of possible or probable turned out to be correct about ninety percent of the time.

So what’s your problem with the diagnosis then? Giessen demanded to know of his mother. If the doctor says there’s a ninety percent chance he’s got Alzheimer’s, then he’s got Alzheimer’s. Deal with it.

But Paul, I’m not comfortable with the doctor; I don’t trust his diagnosis.

Then waste time and money and get a second opinion, he stated. If the first doctor’s ninety percent sure what it is, the second doctor probably won’t be far behind. For Christ sakes Mother, it’s Alzheimer’s disease. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen this thing, you know. But it doesn’t matter; the result in the end is always inevitable.

What do you mean by that? she asked.

You know why at least – I hope – they call Alzheimer’s, ‘the mind robber’, ‘the death that leaves the body behind’, and ‘the never ending funeral’: don’t you?

Giessen answered his own question. Because it’s a miserable, dead-end road that always, inevitably, requires institutional mop-up after the mind is gone and before the body finally dies. If you want my advice, the best thing for you – and him – would be to arrange a nursing home and get this business taken of sooner than later.

The mother was stunned, shocked; but it wasn’t the first time.

I think that course of action would be premature, was all she said.

If he’s not ready for a nursing home, Giessen shot back, then what are you calling me for?

It had been like that for over thirty years, Wanda Giessen thought sorrowfully after she hung up the phone. Her son had turned his back on the family fold only a year or so into his studies at the University of Colorado here in Boulder, and departed both physically and mentally, apparently forever.

There was no way in the world she could blame Anna May, for it wasn’t in her nature to create such a schism – especially to Paul’s personality. But whatever it was that came between them monumentally changed both their lives, and not necessarily for the better.

Wanda sighed forlornly thinking about her son. Sometimes she honestly wondered why she still cared enough to seek him out after all the years of open contempt and condescension. And what Paul unloaded on her wasn’t even half of the disrespect and derision he dumped on his father. So why did she willingly accept the abuse that would be hurled her direction every time she attempted to make contact with Paul?

It was for the same reason Tim never, ever, gave up on Paul. They were parents and they would always – no matter what – love their child.

Chapter 3

Getting out of the house with the dog seemed an alternative, but frankly, Tim Giessen knew there was really no place to run. Nor was there any place, anymore, to hide.

Still, taking a walk with Otis was preferable right now to sitting and stewing in his recliner out on the patio addition. That’s where he’d probably be otherwise, endlessly mulling over and lamenting the downward spiral his life was destined to take now that he’d received the diagnosis. At least this way, with Otis, there was an infinitesimal chance of distraction and the barest possibility of diversion; anything would be a mercy if he could get away mentally from the words: You have a dementia of a probable Alzheimer’s type.

Obviously, even now as he watched Otis sniff the base of a stop sign, he couldn’t escape that fateful judgment. There was indeed no place to run; there was no place to hide.

Wanda had asked Tim if he might want to accompany her shopping. He had begged off, with a mumbled song-and-dance about the dog needing a swim in the creek. In truth, the last time Tim had ventured into the store by himself, things didn’t exactly work out. To be specific, what he ended up with at the checkout stand didn’t at all resemble what was on the list. He couldn’t explain how he’d made so miserable a mess of things and the possibility of a repeat performance was not on the top of his to-do list today. Sometimes, things were just easier to avoid.

Tim and Wanda’s residence on Marine Street was only minutes away from Boulder Creek. It was a small but warm house and they had lived in it for nearly fifty years. Paul and Tilda had been raised there; happy memories of laughing children abounded whenever the Noble siblings visited. It was the one place in the world Tim Giessen knew he would forever be at home – even if he was condemned to probably soon forget it entirely.

Without hope, Tim padded behind the magnificent one hundred and forty pound golden retriever, confident at least that the animal would never forget the way to the creek. Swimming in the stream was one of the two great daily aspirations in the beast’s life; the other was snoring away on his own couch in the patio addition of the Marine Street house.

Up Marine Street to the west then, towards the Flatirons and the mountains they ambled, until reaching Sixth Street where they turned downhill to Boulder Creek. Otis could now hear the water as it tumbled over stones in its path. As a result, the great canine pulled his master with accelerated excitement toward the flowing stream.

Man and beast crossed over the Sixth Street bridge, then turned back under and joined the concrete path that ran along Boulder Creek as it journeyed through town. Immediately before them, just in front of the stream, was a sign city officials had erected several years earlier. It was here the master commanded the animal to sit and wait patiently; Otis hated the delay, but subordinated himself to his master’s wishes.

The sign in front of Tim and Otis depicted a figure with a dog on a leash in the upper left hand corner. Below, in large font, a stern warning was erected before them: PURSUANT TO CITY CODE ALL DOGS MUST BE ON A LEASH. A further admonition noted that owners were responsible for cleaning up after their pets.

As had become ceremony since Otis was a pup, Tim Giessen stuck his third finger in the air toward the sign, while simultaneously muttering, Fuck you! Immediately thereafter, he bent over and cut the canine loose from his leash. Without hesitation the dog bounded toward the water and his swim.

It would be fair to say that for Tim Giessen, this was perhaps the solitary act of civil disobedience in a lengthy life, even if repeated almost daily. Always the model of rectitude he had been, the concerned and compassionate high school teacher of youth for over thirty-five years and a pillar of the Boulder community. Yet this sign was his Achilles’ heel; it was where he drew his own line in the sand.

And today – because the mood was on him – he flipped the sign off once again and more than mumbled the expletive for good measure.

Sinking onto a rock by the creekside, he watched the dog frolic in the stream but it all became distorted. It was like this with everything, anymore. In spring days past for example, in ordinary times, during walks Tim would have been keen to seek out the earliest tulip and daffodil volunteers of the season, and later watch as buds on the trees grew into full leaves. But anymore, everything was just a blur. Nothing had significance for him now; everything paled in comparison to the diagnosis – and the future it forecast.

Worse than a crippling blow, the doctor’s words that day had totally blindsided Tim with their implied decree of a slow yet relentless death. After all, he wasn’t stupid. He was quite aware that with Alzheimer’s there were no cures, nor even any stories of remission, like cancer. No, he had unexpectedly found himself cast upon a train with a single set of tracks creeping, in great torpor, toward nowhere and nonexistence. It was absolutely unacceptable that a life he had taken so much pride in was coming to this.

It had not even been a week since the day he was diagnosed, but that day had replayed so many times in his mind that a year could have passed. And maybe it did, he thought morosely, only he couldn’t remember it.

Already Tim recognized he’d sojourned into the bogs of depression as he oozed glumly between disbelief and denial, between fear, anger, and sadness. The diagnosis became a turning point like no other – a turning only to a point of no return.

In the days since the diagnosis he became preoccupied with worries about the future as well. He fretted about who he would now become as he experienced the loss of self that was always said to be part and parcel of the disease. Was his only destiny to become a deplorable victim whose mind vacates as his body rots? Was there any other fate but to eventually be confined senseless to a nursing home bed?

Physical death happens to all, yet concerns much more grievous than mere physical death had come crashing down all around him. Their starting point focused on everything he accomplished in his life until now, and plummeted down into the abyss from there. What, for instance, would happen to his self-worth and self-respect – to his soul – if his family and community could no longer trust and value his actions and judgments? And if he could no longer reciprocate and maintain commitments with others in society, was it then his destiny to be shunned and relegated to the status of a non-person, a drag on the greater system?

What too – most importantly – would become of Wanda, the wonderful woman he had shared most of his life with? Was it fair to her – no, even more – was she capable with her own health problems of caring for him as he gradually digressed toward a state of total incapacity? Would he condemn her to financial ruin and physical exhaustion as he slowly decayed toward death?

There had to be another way out, another alternative.

* * *

When Tim Giessen came back to his senses, Otis was sleeping beside the streamside rock and snoring lightly in the dirt. The animal was wet – and now muddy – and would surely need to be bathed in the hose at home.

But it didn’t matter; nothing mattered anymore when you couldn’t retrieve your thoughts from the cesspool they now floated away in.

Who the hell were they trying to fool, anyway?

Call it by any name you want – Alzheimer’s or whatever else – he didn’t need a second opinion like Wanda wanted. It was probably even worse, but he certainly couldn’t deny any longer something was egregiously wrong.

Little things that weren’t quite right had been happening for a couple years, yet they were all so minor that to him they seemed inconsequential. Of course Wanda worried more about his inconsistencies, but perhaps that was because he wasn’t a very good judge of his own cognitive decline. Two incidents transpired earlier this year, he had to finally admit, that left him with little doubt something was drastically out of kilter.

The first occurred shortly after the holidays during a cold January snowstorm coupled with high winds. Wanda was taking care of some laundry while he cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. The trash had to go out so he extracted the plastic liner from the receptacle under the sink. The wind was howling and the snow was blowing outside but the trashcan was close. He could make the dash out and back as he had done many times in the past without a coat, so it was no big deal.

Be that as it may, immediately after he stole out the side door and onto the steps off the stoop, he was suddenly – and completely – lost. Standing there in the cold swirling snow, he had not a clue as to where to go. He had lived in this house for over forty years and all at once there was no place in his mind as to where to take this bag of trash in his hand.

So baffled, so bewildered he was that very slowly he settled himself onto the steps of the stoop amidst the full fury of the snowstorm.

And that was precisely where Wanda found him a short time later. She wondered what the hell he was doing out there without a coat, hat, or gloves. Retrieving his thoughts from wherever they had gone, he’d mumbled something about taking out the trash and sitting down for a moment to think. She had responded saying he’d better hurry or he’d catch his death of pneumonia, even as the door slammed closed aided by the force of the wind.

Tim stood up and – straightaway – knew where the big trashcan was. Of course he knew where it was. It was in the same place it had been for the last forty something years.

That event had been disconcerting enough. Yet, another episode a few weeks later forced him to admit something was truly wrong. It was the incident that made him finally agree to consult a doctor.

He had been out in the patio addition watching a ball game, with Otis lightly snoring on his couch. Wanda had taken a hot meal over to a sick friend so inside the house was pretty quiet. During a commercial break Tim decided to get a snack from the refrigerator. Once in the kitchen, he heard a strange noise coming from down the hall. Walking curiously toward the sound he eventually turned into the bathroom. Before him the floor was wet, the bath throw rugs were soaked, and water was flowing steadily from the toilet. Some of the water floated from the bowl and down the sides of the toilet while some dripped directly from rim to floor. It was the noise of the dripping that had drawn him back to the bathroom.

Although Tim had always been handy around the house, and could fix just about anything, that day he’d stared at the toilet – and didn’t know what to do.

He could only gaze at the flowing and dripping water, and was utterly unable to react. Anxiety over his confusion engulfed him, but there was nothing else forthcoming.

How long he was affixed there he had no idea; after a time, he returned to the patio addition and the ball game on television. The event slipped his mind entirely.

It might have been at the next commercial break or maybe the one thereafter that pangs of hunger again generated thoughts of a snack. When once again in the kitchen he heard the dripping noise from the bathroom and it all came literally flooding back to him. This time there was no panic. No longer was he the deer in the headlights. Quickly he shut off the water supply for the toilet; he then removed the wet rugs and cleaned up the floor. A half hour later the toilet was in perfect repair and working fine once again.

Tim, unfortunately, knew he was not. Something was clearly wrong with him. The next time Wanda mentioned visiting a doctor about his problems Tim had little recourse but to agree.

The diagnosis in the end had been Alzheimer’s disease and to be honest, a second opinion would probably just confirm it. After all the tests he went through, all the bloodletting and brain scanning, how much could the diagnosis really change? Things were, the way they were.

And as the doctor admitted, Alzheimer’s was incurable. It was a depressing, demeaning, and sluggish train ride to death. It was also the train he was now riding on.

Tim sighed, and his chest heaved. It wasn’t right that he should become a burden to those he loved.

There simply had to be some other way out.

And yes, there was another alternative – if only he could summon the courage for it.

Chapter 4

Just what I don’t need! Anna May spit through her teeth, as she slammed the office phone down after listening to the voice message.

Why did she always end up attracting losers? Is that all that was out there? It had been the story of her life since him – and especially including him. And after a creepy call like that from electrical inspector Bud Overholt, what else was she to think?

Anna May knew she could do better than the likes of him. She was still damn good looking – maybe no longer with her homecoming queen youth – but still in great shape and vibrantly alive. And, she had character and backbone won of hard experience, even if no one else could appreciate it, or cared to appreciate it.

The fear that haunted her as the days plodded on was to die a lonely old woman. What could be worse when she had so much love to share?

But maybe there was nothing but losers out there.

The sad fact the only people she had confidence in anymore were a generation passing. People like her father, like Uncle Timmy and Auntie Wanda: someday they would inevitably be gone. They were the ones that loved each other no matter what came along; they cared enough to do the right thing no matter the consequences. And when they were no longer here, there would be no one she could firmly count on; no future around her could be relied upon to create stability, strength, endurance, and unswerving devotion toward family and friends. Was there anyone, anymore, that carried such virtues?

Likely, the answer was in the negative.

Anna May feared for the rest of her days she would be surrounded by the Bud Overholts of this world – or worse, clones of him.

Chapter 5

When Wanda opened the door for Charley Noble, she couldn’t help but smile.

She hadn’t seen him for a few weeks and overwhelmed