But there’s one thing he has never stopped doing.
He wears his wedding ring.
Every single day.
Sometimes the nurses need to check the skin beneath it.
But Mark becomes upset if someone tries to remove it.
He presses his hand against his chest.
Shakes his head.
“No. That’s mine.”
He cannot explain why.
He doesn’t know who gave it to him.
He doesn’t remember standing on that dock and asking me to put it on his finger.
But somehow, he knows he wants to keep it.
I often remember what he said in the video.
Maybe my mind won’t remember. But perhaps
Mark kissed me.
Behind us, the sun sank toward Loon Lake.
The water glowed orange and purple beneath the pines.
Exactly as it had when we were young.
And for that moment, everything felt whole.
—
Part 5: The Promise I Keep
That wedding was four years ago.
I’m writing this because Sophie asked me to.
She says someday she may need help remembering the details too.
She’s right.
None of us is getting younger.
And memories are more fragile than I ever understood.
Mark now lives in a residential care home.
It’s a good place, only twelve minutes from our house.
I visit every morning around nine.
Most days, I stay until dinner.
His room overlooks a small pond where ducks drift across the water.
I specifically requested that room.
I told the staff my husband has always loved being near a lake.
He doesn’t remember that anymore.
He doesn’t
remember many things.
Sophie graduated from nursing school two years ago.
Mark attended.
He wore his gray suit.
He sat in the audience and applauded when she crossed the stage.
Afterward, he looked at me.
“Who’s that beautiful young woman?”
My heart tightened.
“That’s Sophie, sweetheart. Our daughter.”
He stared at her in amazement.
“We have a daughter?”
I nodded.
He smiled.
“Well, isn’t she something?”
“She certainly is.”
He looked at me.
“Does she know how proud I am of her?”
I swallowed my tears.
“She knows, Mark. You’ve been telling her since the day she was born.”
—
He no longer remembers our address.
Sometimes he doesn’t recognize Dave, who still visits every Thursday to talk about baseball.
He no longer remembers the old dock.
Or Room 12.
Or the little hardware store where we met.
