Woman with Alzheimer’s Leaves Mysterious Note—What She Discovers Will Surprise You

Memories were disappearing from Margaret’s world like ink on old paper. One thing was certain, though: a name in wobbly handwriting that read, “Find Bonny.” Although she was unsure of Bonny’s identity, she was aware that she needed to locate her. Margaret held fast to what little truth she still had as her daughter gazed in silent worry.

The note in Margaret’s shaking palm caused her to squint. Her handwriting was uneven and the ink was muddy, as though her fingers had had difficulty holding the pen firmly.

“Find Bonny.”

Her breath caught as she read the lines again. Bonny.

The name made her feel warm, funny, and comforted, all of which were hidden beneath the surface. Someone significant. She needed to find someone.

However, who was she?

Margaret squeezed her eyes tight and put her fingers to her temples. Consider.

Images flashed through her mind: a bright afternoon, laughter, a steady, secure presence by her side. However, it was hazy and slipped like mist from her fingers.

In search of a hint, she looked about the kitchen. The kettle was chilly.

There was a half-eaten biscuit with crumbling, dry edges next to a cup of tea. The air was heavy with the smell of something burned and dust.

Was the stove still on?

She turned abruptly towards the counter as a flash of terror swept through her. Not a cigarette. No fire. The hob is empty.

She clutched the note harder, her hands shaking. Once more, she was losing her memory.

Then footsteps.

Gentle, cautious. Like a person approaching something delicate.

“Mom?”

Rachel was standing in the doorway with a frown forming on her forehead as Margaret turned to face her.

Rachel. Her daughter. She was aware of that, yes.

Rachel glanced at her and then at the note she was holding. “Are you alright?”

Holding the paper to her chest, Margaret stood up straight. “Where is Bonny?”

Rachel blinked. “Bonny?”

As evidence, Margaret held out the note. “She’s not there.”

Rachel took the paper carefully and moved closer. Margaret kept a close eye on her face. Was the name familiar to her? Did she recall?

Rachel’s eyes flickered with doubt as her lips parted. “Mom, who is Bonny?”

Margaret’s throat became constricted. She ought to be aware of the solution. She sensed it.

However, nothing came out of her mouth.

Between them, there was stillness.

With a quiet sigh, Rachel spoke. “Are you certain it’s not an old acquaintance?”

Margaret, clinging to certainty like a lifeline, shook her head. “She’s everywhere I look. Her name comes to mind. I valued her.

Margaret noticed the scepticism in Rachel’s eyes even though she nodded.

It was the same gentle, wary expression people wore when they believed she was fading away, the same look doctors had given her.

Margaret’s chest grew constricted.

This was not what she had imagined. Bonny was real.

Margaret persisted, “I have to find her.”

Rachel smiled a little, patiently. “Then we’ll locate her.”

Margaret let out a breath. However, what if they were unable to?

Rachel was sitting next to Margaret at the kitchen table, looking through old letters, notes, and photo albums. Papers littered the table, some pristine but useless, others yellowed with age.

They had spent hours working on it.

Margaret sat stiffly, drumming her fingers on the wood while looking at the old pictures.

She immediately recognised some of them—holiday get-togethers, family trips, Rachel as a child. Others, however, felt as though they were a part of someone else’s life.

A woman with her face on, but in locations Margaret couldn’t remember, standing next to individuals whose names she couldn’t remember.

With a sigh, Rachel rubbed her temple and closed an album. “Mom, I looked over all of your old correspondence and connections. Bonny isn’t there.

Margaret scowled. “That isn’t logical.”

Rachel softly squeezed her mother’s hand as she reached for it. “Are you certain that she is real?”

Margaret tensed. Something deep within her objected, and her throat constricted.

“She’s real.” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound that piercing.

Rachel remained unflinching. She only nodded, her face cautious and patient. “All right. Tell me, then, what you recall about her.

Margaret’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She gritted her teeth. She was aware of Bonny’s significance. She was aware of her love for her. However, the connection, the moments, and the specifics were all disappearing.

Margaret closed her eyes tightly, hoping that something, anything, would manifest.

A chuckle. A little bit. A voice.

Nothing.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure,”

Rachel’s expression grew softer. “Don’t worry, Mom. Perhaps if we continue to search—

However, Margaret had stopped listening. Her eyes had wandered to the window.

The garden.

Long shadows from the lowering sun extended towards the ancient oak tree in the yard.

Margaret’s breath slowed as she gazed at it.

There was something significant about that location.

At the corners of her mind, a recollection flickered. A hint of something forgotten, something buried.

She felt a familiar aching against her chest.

Margaret suddenly pushed back her chair. “I have to go check out.”

Rachel blinked. “What?”

Margaret was on her way to the door already.

With a sigh, Rachel rose swiftly. “All right. Let’s leave.

The smell of moist grass and fallen leaves filled the crisp, cool air outside. The light was going quickly, and the sky was burning in pink and orange streaks.

Margaret’s steps were a little crooked, but determined.

Rachel trailed behind. “Where are we going, Mom?”

Margaret remained silent.

In the centre of the yard, she paused and fixed her gaze on the ground beneath the ancient oak tree.

Her heartbeat accelerated.

This was not the first time she had come here.

She was aware that she had.

Concern flashed across Rachel’s face as she observed her. “Mom?”

Margaret opened her mouth.

There it was, the memory. Just out of reach.

There was a message on the nightstand when Margaret woke up.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked at it. She reached for the tiny piece of crumpled paper, her fingers shaking as she did so.

“Check the garden.”

She scowled. Her own penmanship. However, she couldn’t recall writing it.

A familiar apprehension took hold of her chest. Once more, something was slipping. Something significant.

Grasping the paper hard, Margaret sat up. The remarks seemed urgent, like a whisper from a past self who was still aware of and recalled things. She was unable to ignore it.

The hardwood floor was cold underfoot as she went towards the back door after putting on a coat. The creak of aged wood was the only sound in the house.

The smell of moist soil and fallen leaves filled the cold, humid air outside.

It was supposed to be a calm fall evening, yet the sky had deepened into gentle pink and orange tones.

Margaret’s heart, however, was racing.

Her breath came in sharp gasps as she entered the garden. She stared at the ground beneath the ancient oak.

Just out of grasp, a recollection flickered. There’s something buried. There’s something awaiting.

“Mom?”

Margaret swivelled a little. With her arms folded against the cold, Rachel stood on the porch. Her eyes twitched with concern.

How come you’re out here? As she stepped out onto the lawn, Rachel questioned.

Margaret raised a quivering hand and gestured to the floor.

“Bonny is present.”

Rachel’s expression froze.

“What?” She spoke in a cautious, deliberate tone.

Margaret didn’t hold out for a response.

She took hold of the rusty old shovel that was resting against the fence and walked towards it.

The handle, worn from years of weather, felt rough against her palm. She smashed it into the ground without thinking.

Rachel stepped forward. “Wait, Mom—”

Margaret, however, continued to dig.

The soil was heavy and frigid. It took off and landed about her feet in unkempt heaps. Despite her trembling hands, she continued.

The same pull that had brought her here, the same sensation she got when she wrote the note, tightened in her chest.

Rachel was kneeling next to her. “Slow down, Mom.”

Margaret paid no attention. Her breath came in irregular gasps as she delved further.

Then—

Rachel’s fingers struck a firm object.

The two women froze.

More dirt was swept away by Rachel. The wooden surface grew smaller, clearer, and more worn with time.

Margaret froze, gasping for air.

Rachel paused. “Mom.”

Margaret extended her hand and traced the worn wood with her fingers, feeling its rough surface.

With caution, Rachel opened the lid.

There was a small collar inside, wrapped in a frayed rag.

Margaret let out a gasp.

The corroded tag bore the name Bonny inscribed on it.

Margaret gazed at it. Her whole body froze.

Then—

Everything returned.

Bonny.

Her canine companion.

Her closest companion.

The way Bonny would wrap up next to her at night and breathe softly against her side, the warm fur, the joyful thump of a wagging tail.

the sense of security and never being alone.

Margaret took a deep breath.

More than everything, she had loved Bonny.

She had also forgotten about her.

She was crushed under its weight.

Margaret breathed in irregular bursts. Her vision was obscured by tears, which caused the collar she was holding to glitter.

Rachel knelt next to her, speaking in a quiet, unsure tone.

“Mom.”

Margaret shook her head and gave a sad laugh.

“I believed—I believed she was a human being.”

Rachel’s eyes became enlightened. She refrained from correcting her mother. She kept her mistake a secret from her.

Rather, she put her arm around Margaret to support her.

“It’s alright,” Rachel muttered.

Margaret used the back of her hand to wipe her face. “I feel so foolish.”

Rachel gave her hand a squeeze. “You’re not a moron. Sometimes your thoughts just get confused.

Margaret closed her eyes and gripped the small collar to her chest.

She’d been trying to find Bonny.

She had also located her.

Margaret had the little wooden box in her lap as she sat on the porch. The smell of damp ground and fallen leaves filled the silent air.

The garden was covered in beautiful golden streaks as the sky started to slowly fade into darkness.

Carefully balancing two mugs of tea, Rachel went outside. Before descending onto the wooden steps, she placed one next to her mother.

The tea’s warmth caused vapour to curl into the cool evening air as they sat in cosy stillness.

Margaret ran her fingertips along the rough sides of the box while she peered at it. What was the duration of its burial? For what length of time had she been looking without realising?

Her voice was no more than a whisper as she exhaled deeply. “I detest this.”

Rachel looked around. “What?”

Margaret tightened her hold on the box as she gulped. “Ignoring stuff. I feel as though I’m pursuing ghosts.

Rachel took a while to respond. Rather, she lovingly squeezed her mother’s hand as she reached for it.

“Mom, I understand.” She spoke steadily yet softly. But in the end, you did recall. That’s what counts.

As she watched the tea swirl in her cup, Margaret let out a breath. Did you do it?

Rachel smiled at her a little, comfortingly. And you’re not the only one who has this. I’m with you.

A sensation of warmth surged throughout Margaret’s breast as she gazed at her daughter.

She gave a nod.

Rachel’s voice was full of interest as she leaned against her shoulder. Describe Bonny to me. How did she behave?

Margaret closed her eyes and grinned. And she allowed herself to recollect for the first time in years.

The tail’s wag. Fur’s gentle press. the unwavering devotion.

So she spilt the beans to Rachel.

Because love last forever, while memories do not.

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