Left Behind

Watching Mom succumb to Alzheimer’s is like running toward a bus stop where someone I love has just gotten on the bus and is riding away and I have all these things I want to say and maybe find a way to make her stay, but she’s on the bus and it begins to move and I’m running toward it as it pulls away and both of us, me and the bus, are moving and I can see the blue exhaust at it begins to accelerate and move into traffic and I run harder and harder trying to catch it … and then sooner or later I realize my folly and my gait slows … and slows … and slows … until eventually I stop and just stand there watching the bus fade into the distance, taking her away and out of my life forever.


About Melissa Crandall

A million years ago--round-about the first Ice Age--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and science fiction media tie-in novels. I'm happy to say that I've since branched out to include fantasy, horror, essays, and narrative nonfiction. This site will keep you up-to-date on my adventures in writing. I live in Connecticut with my husband--who frequently wonders what he got himself into by marrying a writer--two cats named Tuna and Gypsy, and a semi-neurotic Australian shepherd named Holly.
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