CHAPTER ONE

Six months later

“It’s time, Cherish. You can do this,” Cherish Murray chanted to herself, grasping the doorknob of her late mother’s room.

Though her sweet mother had gone to her great reward over nine months ago, Cherish still lacked the courage to sort out her mother’s belongings. The room held so many painful memories. But it was time. She opened the door, sneezing as the dust settled.

The corner where the hospital bed had stood for over five years was now empty. Slowly and carefully she began going through her mother’s belongings. Each dress told a story of its own: Cherish had gotten the purple dress for her mother to wear on Mother’s Day and the pink one for her 65th birthday, which would have been the coming week.

She picked up and gently caressed the gold-framed picture of her mother, wiping away the tears as they spilled against the glass. “I wish I could take all those years back, Mama, those years when I thought I didn’t have time to visit. I wish we could have had more time.” She took a deep breath and put the picture in a box of things she’d keep.

She looked toward the heavens and made a vow. “I will make this up to you, Mama. I know I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, but somehow, someway, I will make this up to you.” She retrieved more clothes from the closet.

Cherish continued to wipe away tears as she folded dresses and put them in the box marked Shelter. She folded bed jackets, robes, and other items. Soon the box was full. She was just leaving the room when the phone rang.

She ran to her room to answer it. Her lips curved upward in a smile as she recognized the caller.

“Hello, sweetie,” said the familiar voice.

“Hello, Aunt Diane,” Cherish said, sitting on her bed.

“Have you cleaned out your mother’s room yet? It’s been nine months. Cherish, you can’t blame yourself for the past.”

“I could have helped her more than I did in the beginning.” Cherish paused. “But to answer your question, yes, I just finished.” She grabbed a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. She heard her aunt talking, but it wasn’t registering. Her mind had floated back to that dreadful day.

“Cherish, I have Alzheimer’s,” Margaret told her only daughter during her monthly visit.

“Mama, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Cherish faced her mother, determined not to shed a tear.

Margaret watched her daughter struggle for control. “When, Cherish? Before or after your report on your job successes?”

Cherish wanted to say that her job hadn’t taken precedence, but it had. She had noticed her mother hadn’t looked well the last few months, but had said nothing, fearing it might interfere with her life. “How long have you had it?”

Margaret handed her the latest report from the clinic. “The doctor suggested I either move in with a relative or into an Alzheimer’s nursing home.”

Cherish quickly scanned the paper, but the words were blurry. “Mama, according to this, you’re in the second phase. How many phases are there?”

Margaret spoke softly. “There are three.”

“And you’re at phase two! You’re more than half-way into this mess and now you tell me!” Cherish yelled. Then immediately she said, “I’m sorry, Mama. I wasn’t yelling at you. How have you been getting to the doctor? Your medicines?”

“Diane.”

“Aunt Diane took you to the doctor all this time without saying one word to me!”

Her mother nodded. “I didn’t want to burden you,” she added in a voice that broke Cherish’s heart.

“Cherish?” Her aunt called her name again louder. “Cherish!”

She heard her name and realized she’d become lost in the past. “I’m sorry, Auntie, what were you saying?”

“You can’t change the past. It’s gone. That’s why I called. You can do something about your future. A friend told me about a support class at the college, and I thought about you.”

“I already have a degree,” Cherish teased her aunt.

“I know that, smarty. This is a support group. It meets on Wednesday nights. So you have five days to get ready for it.”

Cherish loved her only aunt dearly. Even though she knew that her aunt meant well, Diane Prudehome sometimes overstepped the boundaries of being an aunt. “Auntie, I’m fine. I’ve been working on my designs really hard. I have been thinking about other things besides Mama.”

Cherish tried to speak confidently, so her aunt wouldn’t worry about her so much. “It’s a slow process for me. You know she was both mother and father to me. So it’s like I lost both parents at once. She worked two jobs to put me through college.”

“Cherish, she was my sister and I miss her too. This group is for the children of Alzheimer’s patients. You spent the last five years of your life helping with your mother’s care. Luckily, you were able to work from your home, but now you have to start living. It will be good for you to know other survivors. Call me and tell me how it goes.”

Cherish looked at the receiver as it hummed at her. She knew she had to go to that class or her aunt would hound her until she did. At least she had a few days to get used to the idea. She walked into her large bathroom and looked at her face in the mirror. Her usually blemish-free honey brown skin was a little spotty. It had been a long nine months and her grief had taken the form of acne. As she stood there, she heard the annoying beep of her fax machine in the background, her cue to return to work. She walked briskly to her office down the hall.

* * *

“Hey, Mr. Vice-president. I got something for you.” Curran Fitzgerald sauntered into his friend’s office. He yawned as he put a folded piece of paper on the desk and sat in the chair, grunting like a man of eighty.

Darius smiled at his friend. He loved hearing the term vice-president. And because he was the first African-American to be promoted to executive status, he was very proud. His friend Curry was Irish-American, with curly dark blonde hair and hazel eyes women just went nuts for. “Rough night? I told you Tamara was too young for you.” Darius spoke of the redhead who had been occupying Curry’s nights lately.

Curry smiled tiredly, then yawned again. “I was the victim of a moshing.” He expelled an exhausted breath.

“And that is what?”

“That is a group of young people who don’t have a day job, jumping around like they are crazy.” He yawned again, leaning back in the leather chair.

“Was it really worth it?” Darius already knew the answer, but wanted his free-spirited friend to finally admit chasing those young girls left him empty.

“No. I woke up this morning on my couch and had to crawl upstairs. I had to take some muscle relaxers just to get dressed for work.”

“When are you going to date someone closer to your age? Those young girls see a guy with money and that’s all. Curry, you deserve better.”

That statement brought Curry erect in the chair. He let out a dramatic sigh and shoved a flier toward his friend so he would stop talking. “I know, Darius. I’m just having fun.”

Darius nodded, knowing his friend did not like discussing the fact that he dated so many different young women, unlike Darius, who rarely dated. The outcome was still the same: loneliness. He turned his attention to the flier. “What’s this, Curry? You know I’ve got a meeting this afternoon.”

“I know you have a meeting, I do too. Remember, I’m the director of advertising. My friend Sean is hosting a class I thought you might want to attend.” Curry ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was uncomfortable discussing the subject at hand. “It’s called ‘Children of Alzheimer’s Patients: How to Cope with Your Parents and Not Feel Guilty.’ Sean says it’s an awesome class for adult children having to take care of a parent.”

Darius opened the flier and read the information. Now it was his turn to let out a dramatic sigh. He didn’t like discussing his father’s illness. His father had been living with him for only three months, and he both resented it and felt guilty for resenting it. “Thanks for the concern, Curry, but I don’t know about this.” Darius hesitated. It would be nice to talk to others in his position, but he kept envisioning those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings that he had seen on TV. My name is Darius Crawford. My father has Alzheimer’s and I feel guilty about him living with me.

Curry smiled as Darius weakened. “Dare, you should go, it will help. It will kind of give you a heads up on the disease. I know ever since your father announced he has Alzheimer’s you’ve been frightened because you don’t know anything about it. This way you can learn right along with him. You probably should ask the rest of your family to go as well. Has the nurse moved in yet?”

“Not yet. She’s supposed to move in this weekend,” Darius said. The life he’d worked so hard for the last twenty years was fading away. “My sister would probably go, since she’s helping with Dad as well.”

* * *

Later that evening, Darius and Curry walked down the halls of Fort Worth University, a private college in Fort Worth, searching for the classroom with the meeting. Curry tried to ease Darius’s fears.

“Darius, it will be fine.” He stopped walking. “Here it is. Look, there are quite a few people in there already.” He guided his friend into the room, and they took a seat.

Darius gazed around the classroom, taking inventory of the attendees. Though the other people looked as if they came from every walk of life, he saw very few African-Americans in the room. He thought that was strange since Alzheimer’s knew no racial boundaries and was becoming more prevalent in the black community.

“I’m going to say hello to Sean. I’ll be back,” Curry said as he stood and walked toward his friend.

A tall African-American woman sat down beside Darius. “Sorry I’m late,” Darbi said, patting her brother’s knee. “How are things going?”

“Pretty good.” Darius smiled at his sister with pride. She was definitely a survivor. She had endured who knew what during her marriage. Luckily, that jerk of a husband had died. “Did you register for college?”

“Yes, I registered. I even got a part-time job there,” she said proudly.

“My offer for you to move in still stands.”

Darbi smiled. With smooth, medium brown skin, wavy hair and a big smile that hid sorrow and heartache very well, she was the exact image of their mother. If only she could let go of her past and find the happiness she deserved, he thought.

“Darius, Dad lives with you. Soon the nurse will be there full-time. That’s enough people living with you, especially when you weren’t counting on any of this.”

As Darius opened his mouth to reply, he noticed Curry walking back toward him. Curry’s hazel eyes lit up with challenge as he noticed Darbi sitting next to Darius. Darius hated that look. Since a broken heart was often the end result, Darius would have to run interference. Reluctantly, he introduced them. “Curry Fitzgerald, this is my sister, Darbi.” Darius watched as they exchanged pleasantries.

She leaned toward her brother and whispered, “You never mentioned that he wasn’t black. I did think Curry was an odd name for a brother.”

Curry coughed loudly, no doubt hearing Darbi’s remark. “Darius tells me that you just returned to Fort Worth last year. How long were you away?”

“Almost fifteen years. My husband was from Philadelphia, and we moved back there after we married. He was killed in a car wreck last year, so I came home,” Darbi said simply, as if those events hadn’t saved her life.

Curry nodded. Another voice interrupted the conversation.

“Hello, I’m Sean Cummings. I’m a psychologist by day. This class or session is for people who have either lost their loved ones to Alzheimer’s or have loved ones who have it now. First, why don’t we introduce ourselves, and tell what stage your parent or loved one is in.”

One by one, members of the class stood up. Darius noticed every one of the three stages seemed to be represented.

He gazed around the room. It was the turn of a beautiful African-American woman with light brown skin accented by dark shoulder length hair. That body-hugging suit didn’t hurt either. He had watched the silent woman since the class started. She’d fidgeted in her chair, then tapped her stiletto clad feet. What was her story?

Wiping her eyes, the woman took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling. Then she stood and began to speak in a shaky voice. “My name is Cherish Murray. My mother, Margaret, passed away nine months ago. She suffered with Alzheimer’s for the last seven years of her life.” She exhaled and took a seat.

Darius watched her as her breathing returned to normal. After a few more people spoke, it was his turn. He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks and stood up. “My name is Darius Crawford. My father, Otis, is in phase one.” He sat down.

Throughout the meeting, Cherish tried to let the guilt leave her body, one bad deed at a time. She even asked a few questions. Could she have prolonged her mother’s life if she had known more about the disease? Would she have been more understanding? Would she have recognized the symptoms? Hot, moist tears trickled down her face as she relived the past.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, glancing around the room. She could sympathize with so many people. Especially the tall, dark-skinned man and his sister. They had a very long road ahead of them.

After feeling cold during most of the class, Cherish was glad when they finally were able to take a break. She walked over to the coffee pot and poured a cup of warmth.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” The woman offered her condolescences.

“Thank you. She suffered a long time.”

“I just can’t imagine my dad not knowing me or my brother, though I know it’ll happen. I think that’s what scares me the most. Oh by the way, my name is Darbi Crawford.” She extended her hand to Cherish.

Cherish nodded, taking her hand. “I’m Cherish Murray, nice to meet you. I know what you mean about them forgetting you. In the last year my mother thought I was some woman she knew as a teenager and hated. Sometimes she thought I was my aunt, her sister. At first it hurt, but in the end, I got used to it.”