Chapter 1

After my Alzheimer's diagnosis, I began to get lost almost daily.

To care for me, my son David Grant moved me into his home, but his frequent absences from work became a problem.

When he was let go from his job for the third time, his wife Emily suggested placing me in a care home.

David refused outright. "Absolutely not. As long as I'm alive, I'll care for my mother myself."

"But what about your job? And with Sophie's medical bills, my income alone can't cover everything."

Their arguments grew more frequent, and my heart ached with guilt.

Most of the time, though, I would forget who they were.

I even grew annoyed with these "strangers" bickering in front of me, keeping me from picking my son up from school.

David lost yet another job because he'd been out searching for me.

The hospital called, pressing him for payment for Sophie's latest stay.

He finally broke. For the first time, he yelled at me, "After all these years, why won't you just die? Get out of here. I'm done taking care of you!"

I was overjoyed. I could finally leave and go pick my son up from school.

Then I accidentally fell into an open manhole.

When I opened my eyes, I realized I was dead. And my mind was clear again, sharp, lucid, like morning light after a long fog.

A strange calm washed over me. Now my son, my poor devoted David, would be free of me.

*****

I was gone, a wisp in the air, looking down at my own body lying in the grime and sludge.

As the last of my life faded, the haze that had clouded my mind these past three years vanished like it was never there.

All those years since the diagnosis, David had hardly slept a full night.

He took leave after leave, lost job after job.

I'd see him late at night, slumped on the couch, head in his hands, eyes red from stress and sleeplessness. His hair turned gray faster than mine ever did.

Just remembering the weight on his shoulders felt like a knife turning in my chest.

So when he told me to die, I felt only relief.

I could do one last thing for him: disappear. Vanish from his life and never be a burden again.

I was free. And so was David.

Hours later, a city worker found me. His frantic 911 call broke the quiet of the street.

I drifted after the ambulance, sirens wailing, all the way to St. Mary's. I watched as they covered my body with a sheet and wheeled it down to the morgue.

The nurse and a police officer tried to identify me. "Strange," one said. "No purse, no wallet, no jewelry. Nothing."

That was because, right before I walked out, David had torn the medical ID bracelet from my wrist. He'd made it himself.

A simple band with my name, his number, and a line at the bottom: [She is my mother. She has Alzheimer's. Please help her find her way home.]

David was a good son. It would shatter him when he learned I was gone.

He'd blame himself, I knew. But afterward, he could focus on his own family. He could work again, without fear of another call that I'd wandered off.

Truth be told, my death might have been the best thing I ever did for him.

I floated through the hospital halls, peaceful as a draft of air, detached, unfeeling.

Then I saw him.

David was slumped on a bench outside the pediatric wing, his face carved with exhaustion, dark circles like bruises under his eyes.

Little Sophie peeked out from a hospital room. "Daddy? Where's Grandma? She didn't come with us today."

David forced something like a smile. "Grandma... I think I'm going to let her be for a while." He looked away, eyes empty. "Besides, she only ever goes one place, to pick me up from school."

My spirit sank.

Yes. He thought he had me figured out. He thought I was stuck in my loop, harmless, predictable.

That was why he'd finally yelled. That was why he thought he could let me go.

But seeing his worn face and tired eyes, any sadness I felt melted into a quiet, strange relief.

I had been his burden. Now, he was free.

My daughter-in-law, Emily Grant, hurried down the hall, a thermos in her hand. She looked tense, upset.

"David," she said, her voice tight. "Where's your mother now? Where did she wander off to this time? Can't she think about us for once? Give us some peace?"