Contributor: BinaryAgent

“Have you ever heard of 'Death with Dignity,' Honey?” The woman asked.

“Isn't that what people are calling assisted suicide in the papers?” Robert asked. Thelma nodded.

“Do you remember the day you took me to the nursing home?”

Robert's eyes watered. Of course he remembered. How could he ever forget that day? He had cared for Thelma all through the beginning, middle, and late stages of her Alzheimer's. Eventually though, he had to admit that he couldn't keep up. He took her to the rest home where “attentive staff would care for her” they assured. It broke his heart. He stopped by every Monday and Friday to sit and talk with her. It was less for her – she didn't even recognize him – and more as a way for him to continue to hold onto what they had left. One dreary Monday morning he showed up, only to be told that Thelma had passed in the night.

The funeral was held a week later. It was a lonely affair. Robert and the gravediggers were the only ones in attendance.

“Oh Thelma...Thelma...I'm so sorry Thelma.” He muttered to himself.

The tears overflowed, running in tiny rivers through the wrinkles and creases in his old face. He felt a pair of young hands slip into his. Surprised, he looked up at the young woman. She smiled, tears in her own eyes.

“Oh, Robert.” She sighed. “Robert, there's nothing to be sorry for. I'm just glad I found you in time.” Robert just stared at her, the tears still dripping from his face. “You know that there's no cure for Alzheimer's. But that particular rest home has an interesting...treatment.” Robert stared at her dumbfounded. “People looking for death with dignity come in the back while patients come in the front. There's a machine of some sort Robert; a wonderful device, really. An attractive young lady came in a few days before I was about to die. She had been in an abusive relationship. She was mentally unstable. She wanted all of the pain to go away. They hooked us both up to the machine and, switcheroo!” She exclaimed.

“Wait a minute!” Robert shouted. “How does it work? Wouldn't you still have Alzheimer's?” She smiled.

“Oh Robert, I couldn't hope to understand all of it, but I do know why I don't have Alzheimer's. The disease affects my brain. Too many degenerate cells, or so they say. My brain stayed with my old body. My mind went to this new, perfectly healthy host.” Robert shook his head.

“So when you died...”

“Oh, silly! I didn't die! My old body finally succumbed to the disease. The other woman got just what she asked for. They took away the pain. She died peacefully, in her sleep I believe.” She giggled. “I, on the other hand, was in therapy – learning how to control my new body.”

“I'm not sure that I should believe you...” Robert started. He examined the young girl carefully. She seemed so vastly different, but at the same time – he could see Thelma shining through at times. “Alright...” Robert started. “I'll trust you on this. But, why come back? I'm an old man.” Thelma laughed again.

“Oh, Robert! That's exactly why I came back!” He gave her a quizzical look. “What I mean to say is this.” Thelma took a deep breath and squeezed his hands more tightly. “Robert, how would you like another shot at life? We could have another life together. We could be happy again...”



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