Last whispers

01.

 

The sterile smell of the doctor’s office clung to Jogan as he sat in the small examination room. The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly in the background. Jogan looked at his hands, rough and worn from years of work and age. He flexed his fingers slowly, feeling a dull ache in his knuckles. But it wasn’t the arthritis that troubled him now.

The door creaked open, and Dr. Haldor entered with a sombre expression, the kind of face that people in his profession wore when delivering bad news. He closed the door gently behind him, a stack of papers in his hand.

“Jogan... thanks for coming in today. I’m sorry it took so long to get the test results.”

Jogan felt a pit form in his stomach. He’d been dreading this moment, knowing something was wrong, but hoping against hope that it was just age catching up with him. Not this.

“No worries, Doc. I’ve been around long enough to know that patience pays off.” Jogan said cleaning his throat.

Dr. Haldor gave a small, tight smile, but his eyes remained serious. He pulled up a chair across from Jogan and sat down, resting the papers on his lap.

Dr. Haldor sighed softly. “Jogan, we’ve been looking at your symptoms for a while now, you know, the memory lapses you actually noticed first, the confusion....” he trailed and taking a deep breath he continued. “I know you’ve been feeling off for months.”

Jogan nodded, his jaw tightening. He already knew what was coming, but he needed to hear it aloud, to confirm the nagging fear that had been clawing at him since Lean’s passing.

“Just say it, Doc. Don’t sugarcoat it. I’m an old man, not a child.”

Dr. Haldor glanced at the papers again, then met Jogan’s gaze.

“Jogan, you have Alzheimer’s disease.” And with a lower voice, almost a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a dense fog. Jogan felt a cold chill wash over him, as if the room’s temperature had dropped by several degrees. Alzheimer’s. The disease that steals memories, slowly erasing the life a person once knew.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough and low.

“How bad?”

Dr. Haldor shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his voice soft but firm.

“It’s early-stage, but... it will progress. We can manage the symptoms for a while, slow the decline with medication, but there’s no cure, Jogan. Over time, you’ll begin to forget things... little things at first, but eventually...”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Jogan could fill in the blanks. He’d forget his daughter’s face, her name. And Lean... he’d lose her all over again.

Jogan clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He stared down at the floor, his chest tightening with the weight of grief and frustration.

“Lean...” His voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Haldor’s voice softened even more.

“I know you’ve been through a lot already, losing your wife not too long ago. This news... I understand it’s overwhelming.”

Jogan looked up, his eyes glassy but determined.

“Overwhelming? Doc, my wife... my Lean... she fought like hell against cancer. She never gave up, even when she knew she was going to lose. She faced it with courage. And now... I’m supposed to face this?”

He paused, his voice cracking.

After a bit of silence with the doctor lost now knowing what to do with his hands, Jogan asked somehow more firm and concentrated, “I’m supposed to sit back and let my mind... slip away?”

Dr. Haldor didn’t speak for a moment, letting the silence settle. Then he said in the same tone. “It’s not easy, Jogan. I won’t lie to you. But you’re not alone in this. Your daughter, Brita... she’s strong. She’ll be there for you.”

Jogan’s heart ached at the mention of Brita. His sweet, strong daughter who had already lost her mother. Now she would have to watch her father disappear piece by piece. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

 “How do I tell her? How do I tell my little girl that her father... that I’ll forget her, forget Lean, forget everything that made me... me?”

Dr. Haldor sighed again, rubbing his temples before responding. “It’s not something you need to tell her all at once. You’ll have good days and bad days, Jogan. And there are resources, support groups, therapy, ways to help her cope as well.”

Jogan stared blankly at the wall, the doctor's words barely registering. All he could think about was Lean. The smell of her hair, the sound of her laugh. The way her hand used to fit perfectly in his. All of it would fade into oblivion. And soon, he’d be too far gone to even mourn its loss.

He closed his eyes, his voice breaking. “What’s the point of living... if I can’t remember the life I had with her?”

Dr. Haldor placed a gentle hand on Jogan’s shoulder. “There are still memories to be made, Jogan. Moments with Brita, time to savour what you can. You may not always remember, but she will. And that matters.”

Jogan opened his eyes, staring down at his lap. His breath trembled, and for the first time in years, he felt truly helpless. “I don’t want her to suffer. She’s already been through so much. First Lean... and now me.”

The doctor stood up slowly, sliding the papers into a folder and placing them on the counter. “I know this is hard to accept, but Brita loves you. She’ll be there every step of the way. You’re not facing this alone.”

Jogan nodded absentmindedly. Alone. That’s how he felt, even if Brita was by his side. Alone without Lean. Alone in a mind that would soon become foreign to him.

He stood up, his legs shaky but resolute. He straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. “I need some time... to think. To figure out how to tell Brita.”

Dr. Haldor nodded understandingly. “Take all the time you need, Jogan. We’ll set up a follow-up appointment in a few weeks. In the meantime, if you have any questions or just need to talk, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Jogan nodded, barely hearing the doctor as he headed for the door.

As he stepped out into the cool autumn air, the world outside seemed unchanged. People walked by, cars drove along the street, life continued. But for Jogan, everything had shifted. He wasn’t the same man who had walked into that office an hour ago.

He paused on the sidewalk, pulling out a worn photograph from his jacket pocket. It was a picture of Lean, taken decades ago. She was smiling, her eyes crinkling at the edges with that playful sparkle he loved so much.

He held the photo tightly, whispering to the wind. “I’m so sorry, Lean. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to remember you. But I’ll fight it... for as long as I can.”

02.

The house felt emptier than usual. The faint ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound in the kitchen as Jogan sat at the worn wooden table, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. He’d been sitting there for over an hour, waiting for Brita to come home. The minutes stretched painfully, each one bringing him closer to the conversation he dreaded.

The front door creaked open, and he heard Brita’s familiar footsteps, slow and heavy, like someone carrying a weight too big for their shoulders. She entered the kitchen, her eyes tired, the lines of grief still etched on her face from her mother’s death six months ago.

“Hey, Dad. Sorry I’m late. Work’s been... a lot lately.”

Jogan offered her a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Come sit, Brita. We need to talk.”

Brita hesitated, her brow furrowing as she picked up on the seriousness in her father’s voice. She crossed the room slowly, pulling out the chair and sitting down across from him. She folded her hands in her lap, her eyes scanning his face, searching for clues. “What is it, Dad? You’re scaring me.”

Jogan felt his throat tighten. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, but the words still felt impossible. How could he tell his daughter that she was about to lose him in a way that was far worse than death?

He stared down at his cup, watching the steam curl and dissipate into the air, as fragile and fleeting as his thoughts. “I went to the doctor today.” He said quietly.

Brita’s posture stiffened. She leaned forward, her voice already tinged with worry. “Is something wrong? What did they say?”

Jogan exhaled slowly, the weight of the truth pressing down on his chest. “It’s Alzheimer’s, Brita.”

The words fell like stones into a deep, silent well. Brita blinked, her expression frozen in disbelief. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, she shook her head slightly, as if refusing to let the words sink in.

“Alzheimer’s?” (her voice cracked) “No... Dad, no. First Mom... and now...”

Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her hands to her face, trying to hold back the tears that were already threatening to spill over. Jogan watched her, his heart breaking all over again. He reached across the table and took her hand in his, his grip firm but trembling.

“I don’t want this either, Brita. God knows I don’t. But it’s real. And we have to face it.”

Brita lowered her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks now. Her voice was desperate, pleading. “But... we can fight this, right? There are treatments, therapies... Something. You won’t... forget her, will you? You won’t forget Mom? You won’t forget me?”

Jogan swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He wished he could give her the answers she wanted, the reassurances that everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know how long I have before things get bad. But I do know that it will happen, Brita. Slowly at first, and then more. There’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

Brita shook her head again, her voice rising, desperate. “No, no. You can’t just... lose everything. You can’t forget her, Dad. You can’t forget the woman who loved you for fifty years. That’s not fair!”

Jogan’s own eyes were misty now, his vision blurring. He squeezed Brita’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s not fair. I know. But life hasn’t been fair for a long time, Brita. We both lost her... I don’t know if I can take losing her all over again in my mind. But I’ll fight as long as I can, for you.”

Brita stood abruptly, pushing the chair back as she began pacing the small kitchen, her hands running through her hair in frustration. “So what do we do now? Just wait? Watch you fade away? How am I supposed to handle this after Mom? After everything?!”

Her voice cracked with the weight of her grief, the dam finally bursting. She turned to face him, tears flowing freely. “I just got through watching her die. I’m still... I’m still not okay, Dad. How can I watch you disappear too?”

Jogan stood slowly, his legs shaky. He crossed the room to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing into his shirt. He stroked her hair gently, his voice a low murmur. “I know, Brita. I know. You’ve been so strong. You’ve carried so much. I wish I could spare you this... but I can’t. All I can promise is that I’ll try to be here, with you, for as long as I can.”

Brita pulled away slightly, looking up at him with red, tear-filled eyes. “How am I supposed to take care of you when I’m barely holding on myself?”

Jogan cupped her face in his hands, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not in this alone. I don’t expect you to carry this by yourself. We’ll figure it out, together. We’ll find help. But Brita... I need you to be patient with me. I might not always be... myself.”

Brita sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you, Dad. Not like this.”

Jogan’s heart ached as he looked at her, this strong, beautiful daughter who had already lost so much. He wished he could protect her from the pain that was coming, but there was no way to shield her from this.

“You won’t lose me, Brita. Not really. Even if I forget things... even if I forget your name one day, I’ll still love you. That part of me will never be gone.”

Brita let out a shuddering breath, her voice small and vulnerable. “What if... what if you forget who I am?”

Jogan’s lips trembled, and he pulled her close again, his voice shaking. “Then you’ll remind me. Every single time. And I’ll fall in love with my daughter all over again.”

Brita let out a half-sob, half-laugh at his words, the bittersweet truth of it sinking in. She held onto him tightly, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing him for good.

For a long moment, they stood there in the quiet kitchen, holding onto each other as the world around them seemed to crumble. But in that moment, they found strength in each other, knowing that even as the disease took its toll, their love would endure.

Finally, Brita pulled back, her eyes swollen but more composed. “We’ll get through this, Dad. We have to.” Jogan nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “We will, Brita. We will.”

03.

The house was still. Too still. The kind of silence that filled a place when its heart had been taken away. Jogan sat on the edge of the bed he had shared with Lean for nearly fifty years. His eyes traced the familiar patterns of the room—her side of the bed still untouched, the framed pictures on the walls, the old quilt she’d stitched together herself years ago. Her absence was a weight he could feel in every corner of the house.

He stood slowly, his joints protesting, and walked toward the window that overlooked the garden Lean had loved so much. She’d spent hours there, tending to the flowers, pruning the bushes, and digging her hands into the earth as if it was an extension of herself.

The garden was still in full bloom, even now. Her favourite roses, deep crimson and white, bloomed brilliantly, but Jogan hadn’t touched the soil since she’d passed. The thought of it made his chest tighten—he didn’t know where to begin without her.

He unconsciously murmured, “she’s everywhere... and nowhere.”

He could almost hear her voice. The faint whisper of it, as though she were calling to him from the garden, asking him to join her. But when he opened the window to let the air in, there was nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the leaves.

His fingers trembled as he reached for a small photo on the windowsill—a picture of Lean, taken just before the cancer had begun to eat away at her strength. She was smiling, her eyes bright with life, standing among the roses she had nurtured so carefully.

“What happens when I can’t remember that smile? What happens when it fades from my mind?”

The thought gnawed at him like a cruel whisper. Alzheimer’s was a thief. A slow, methodical thief that would take from him the things he cherished most, starting with his memories. He ran his thumb over the photo, his voice barely a whisper.

“What happens when I can’t remember her laugh? When her face becomes a blur in my mind?”

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Brita peeked her head in, her eyes soft with concern. She’d been watching him more closely since the diagnosis, hovering like a shadow, trying to make sure he was okay even when she was clearly still grappling with her own grief.

“Hey, Dad. I thought I’d find you in here.”

Jogan smiled faintly, slipping the photo back into its place. “Just... thinking about your mother. Can’t seem to get her out of my head these days.”

Brita stepped inside, crossing the room to stand beside him at the window. She followed his gaze out to the garden, her voice soft. “She loved that garden. You could see it in how she cared for it. Every flower, every plant. It was like... her way of leaving a little bit of herself behind.”

Jogan nodded, his eyes distant. “I can still see her out there sometimes... like she’s just waiting for me to come and help her plant the new seeds.”

Brita reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s still with you, Dad. In all the little things. In the smell of the roses, in the way the light hits the flowers. She’s not gone.”

Jogan’s throat tightened at her words, and he shook his head slowly. “But what happens when I can’t remember any of it? When all of those little things are just... gone from my mind?”

Brita’s eyes filled with tears, but she held his gaze firmly. “That’s why I’m here, Dad. I’ll remember for both of us. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

Jogan sighed, pulling away slightly to sit down on the edge of the bed again, feeling the weight of his exhaustion. He rubbed his temples, his voice thick with frustration.

“I want to hold onto her. I want to remember every moment, every laugh, every touch. But it feels like... like she’s slipping away from me, and I can’t stop it.”

Brita sat beside him, her hand still resting on his. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice quiet and filled with emotion.

“You won’t lose her, Dad. Even if the memories fade... what you had with her is real. And that’s not something a disease can take from you.”

Jogan’s eyes filled with unshed tears as he looked at his daughter. She was so much like her mother—strong, resilient, always finding a way to make sense of things when everything seemed to be falling apart.

“You sound just like her, you know? Always knew what to say to calm me down. You two were my anchors. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”

Brita’s voice cracked, but she smiled through her tears. “You’re not without her, Dad. She’s in everything you do, in everything we do. We’ll keep her alive in the stories, in the memories we share.”

Jogan nodded, though a shadow of doubt hung over him. He knew Brita was right—Lean would never be truly gone as long as they remembered her. But the fear of losing those memories to the disease gnawed at him constantly.

“Do you remember that trip we took to the coast? The one where we walked along the cliffs, and Mom pretended to be scared of the heights, just to tease you?” Brita said after an overwhelming silence.

Jogan smiled at the memory, his mind briefly lifting from the heaviness. “Of course I remember. She was always teasing me, even when she was the braver one.”

Brita laughed softly. “I thought for sure you were going to have a heart attack when she leaned over the edge to look at the ocean.”

Jogan chuckled, the sound bittersweet. “She was fearless, your mother. She always faced things head-on... never backed down from anything.”

His voice trailed off, and a silence settled between them. Brita shifted closer to him, her expression serious now.

“What if... what if you do forget, Dad? What if one day, you don’t remember that trip? Or that Mom ever teased you?”

Jogan stared at the floor, his hands resting in his lap. “I don’t know, Brita. I’ve been thinking about that every day since the diagnosis. I’ve been trying to hold onto everything as tight as I can, but... I’m scared. Scared that one day, I’ll look at that garden, or at your face, and... none of it will mean anything to me anymore.”

Brita wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. “Then we’ll remind you. We’ll tell you the stories again and again. And when you forget, we’ll start over. It doesn’t matter how many times it takes.”

Jogan looked at her, his voice raw with emotion. “You shouldn’t have to do that. You shouldn’t have to be the one holding all the memories for both of us.”

Brita shook her head, her voice steady. “But I will, because I love you. And I loved Mom. And because that’s what we do... we take care of each other.”

Jogan felt a tear slip down his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re too strong for your own good, Brita.”

Brita smiled softly, resting her head against his shoulder again. “I learned from the best.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of their shared grief and love filling the space between them. Outside, the garden remained in bloom, a living reminder of Lean’s presence. Though the fear of forgetting still lingered, Jogan found comfort in knowing that Brita would carry the memories when he no longer could.

And for now, that was enough.

04.

The evening light filtered softly through the living room windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Jogan sat at the small desk by the window, his hand moving slowly across a sheet of paper. The desk had been his spot for the last few weeks, ever since he’d decided to write letters. Letters to Brita. Letters to himself. Letters to Lean. The words on the page were a mix of memories, confessions, and things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Brita sat on the couch, her eyes focused on her father’s hunched figure. The sound of his pen scratching against the paper filled the room, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was almost hypnotic. She knew what he was doing—he had told her about it a few days ago. But seeing him like this, carefully writing down pieces of himself for a future where he might no longer recognize her or his own thoughts, made her heart ache.

“Dad, how are the letters coming along?” Brita asked gently.

Jogan didn’t look up immediately, his eyes still on the paper. After a few moments, he set the pen down and rubbed his temples, sighing. “I’ve written a few. Some days it’s easier than others... other days, it feels like I’m writing to a stranger.”

Brita frowned and moved closer, sitting on the arm of the couch. She watched him carefully, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re not a stranger. Not now, and not later. You’ll always be my dad.”

Jogan let out a small chuckle, though it was laced with a sadness that made Brita’s chest tighten.

“I wish it were that simple. These letters... they’re for when I won’t remember anymore. So maybe, even when I’m gone—gone in the way that counts—we’ll still have this. You’ll still have me, in a way.”

Brita’s eyes welled up, but she blinked quickly, pushing back the tears. She had cried too much already, and this wasn’t the time for it. “You’re not gone yet, Dad. We’ll take this one day at a time,” she said softly.

Jogan turned to face her, his expression a mixture of love and resignation. “I know. And I’m trying to hold on to every day, every moment. But, Brita, I need to be prepared for what’s coming. I need you to be prepared too.”

Brita’s voice caught in her throat as she looked at him, his face so familiar, yet the fear of the future looming so large. “I don’t know how to prepare for losing you like that, Dad. How do you prepare for something like this?”

Jogan stood up slowly, his legs stiff, and crossed the room to sit beside her on the couch. He took her hands in his, his grip still strong, though his hands were beginning to show signs of the tremors that had started recently.

“We don’t prepare for the loss. We prepare to make the most of what’s left. That’s all we can do.”

Brita nodded, her eyes glistening. She knew he was right, but the thought of watching him fade away, piece by piece, was unbearable. She swallowed hard and shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Can I read one of the letters?”

Jogan hesitated, his eyes scanning the stack of papers on the desk. The letters were deeply personal, filled with thoughts he hadn’t shared with anyone. But he also knew that one day, Brita would need them... need to know how much he had loved her, how much he had tried to hold on to who he was, even as his mind betrayed him.

 “Not yet. But when the time comes... when I start forgetting things, I want you to read them. They’re for both of us.”

Brita sat up and looked at him, her voice quiet but determined. “You’re not going to lose yourself, Dad. Not completely. We’re going to keep doing the things you love. We’re going to talk about Mom, about the trips we took, about all the things that made you who you are.”

Jogan smiled sadly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “That’s the hope, Brita. But Alzheimer’s... it’s relentless. I don’t want you to carry the weight of reminding me of everything.”

Brita shook her head, her voice firm. “I’ll carry it. I’ll remind you as many times as it takes. And when you forget again, I’ll remind you once more. It’s not a burden, Dad. It’s... it’s how I’ll hold onto you.”

Her words hung in the air, a soft promise. Jogan felt a lump rise in his throat. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re too good, Brita. I don’t deserve all of this.”

“You deserve everything, Dad. Everything.”

A silence settled between them, heavy with the unspoken truth. They both knew what was coming, but they also knew that love—however fragile, however fleeting—would be what carried them through. Brita broke the silence after a few moments, her voice lighter now.

“I’ve been recording some of our conversations, you know. Little snippets. I just... I want to keep your voice, your stories.”

Jogan raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve been recording me, huh? Should I be worried about what I’ve been saying?”

Brita laughed softly, the sound a balm to the tension that had built up between them. “Nothing too incriminating, don’t worry. Just... the things I don’t want to forget. Like that time you told me about how you and Mom met. Or how you always beat me at chess, even though I swear you were cheating.”

Jogan chuckled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t cheating. You were just too impatient. Always trying to beat me in three moves.”

“I was ambitious.”

Jogan’s smile faded slightly, his eyes growing distant. “You know, your mom... she used to say I was too stubborn to lose at anything. That’s probably why I kept playing chess, just to prove her wrong.”

Brita’s smile faltered as she saw the hint of sadness in his eyes. She placed a hand on his arm, her voice soft. “You weren’t wrong, Dad. You’re stubborn. And we’re going to be just as stubborn with this... we’re going to hold onto as much of you as we can.”

Jogan looked at her, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and sorrow. He reached over to the stack of letters on the desk and picked up the top one. It was unfinished, but he handed it to her anyway. “Here. I want you to have this one.”

Brita took the letter, her fingers trembling slightly. She didn’t open it, not yet. Instead, she looked at her father, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Dad.”

Jogan nodded, his voice quiet. “Thank you, Brita. For being here. For... everything.”

Brita smiled through her tears, holding the letter tightly in her hands. “Always, Dad. Always.”

They sat together in the fading light, their words fading into the quiet of the house. The letters, the recordings, the memories—they were all pieces of a future neither of them could fully control. But for now, they had each other. And for now, that was enough.

The End