Will There Be a Day I No Longer Remember You?
Eleanor and Henry sat together on the old bench by the window, the afternoon sun casting long, golden beams across the room. The air was quiet, except for the soft rustling of the trees outside. Henry gently helped her adjust the shawl around her shoulders, his hands trembling ever so slightly, though she didn’t notice. He had grown used to her forgetfulness, but it never got easier.
Her memory had been slipping away for years now, the gradual erosion of her once-sharp mind leaving gaps in the stories of their lives. Some days, she remembered everything—how they met, their first kiss, the way he’d held her hand on their wedding day. Other days, she couldn’t even remember the day of the week, or whether they had eaten lunch yet. It broke his heart, each new loss, each small piece of her slipping through his fingers.
She looked at him now, her soft blue eyes clouded with confusion, and a sense of worry washed over her face. “Henry,” she said, her voice fragile. “Will I… will I ever forget you?”
He froze, his heart skipping a beat. He had heard this question before, many times, but each time it stung just as much. Eleanor had asked it countless times over the past few months, as her memory faded more with each passing day. The doctors had explained it to them—dementia, they said. A slow, insidious thing that would eventually take away all of her memories, all the moments they had shared.
But Henry wasn’t ready to lose her, not yet. Not ever.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “you’ve never forgotten me, not for a second. You never will.”
Her brow furrowed, uncertainty clouding her gaze. “But… I forget so many things, Henry. Sometimes I wake up and I don’t even know where I am, or who I am. What if one day… I forget you too?”
Henry gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender, as though holding onto her very essence. "You may forget some things, my love," he whispered, his voice soft but steady. "You might forget what we had for dinner last night, or what day it is. But you will never forget me. Not in your heart. We’ve lived a lifetime together, Eleanor. Every laugh, every tear, every touch—it’s all there, deep inside you. And as long as I’m here, I’ll remind you of it every day."
She looked at him with wide, searching eyes, as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite grasp. Slowly, her hand reached out for his, fingers trembling as they intertwined.
“I’m scared, Henry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to forget us.”
Henry felt a lump form in his throat. He had promised her a lifetime of love, and even though she couldn’t always remember, he would be there, holding onto her as she had once held him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Eleanor,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “I’ll be right here, by your side, every day. Even if you forget the sound of my voice, or the way I laugh, I will never forget you. And I’ll remind you of our love every single day. You’ll always be with me, in here.” He placed his hand over his heart.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Henry,” she murmured. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replied, his voice a whisper, as he held her close.
The moments they shared now were fleeting, each one feeling more precious than the last. Time was slipping away from them, but Henry knew one thing for certain—no matter how much she forgot, he would never stop reminding her of the love they had built, and the memories they
still held in their hearts.
Eleanor and Henry sat together on the old bench by the window, the afternoon sun casting long, golden beams across the room. The air was quiet, except for the soft rustling of the trees outside. Henry gently helped her adjust the shawl around her shoulders, his hands trembling ever so slightly, though she didn’t notice. He had grown used to her forgetfulness, but it never got easier.
Her memory had been slipping away for years now, the gradual erosion of her once-sharp mind leaving gaps in the stories of their lives. Some days, she remembered everything—how they met, their first kiss, the way he’d held her hand on their wedding day. Other days, she couldn’t even remember the day of the week, or whether they had eaten lunch yet. It broke his heart, each new loss, each small piece of her slipping through his fingers.
She looked at him now, her soft blue eyes clouded with confusion, and a sense of worry washed over her face. “Henry,” she said, her voice fragile. “Will I… will I ever forget you?”
He froze, his heart skipping a beat. He had heard this question before, many times, but each time it stung just as much. Eleanor had asked it countless times over the past few months, as her memory faded more with each passing day. The doctors had explained it to them—dementia, they said. A slow, insidious thing that would eventually take away all of her memories, all the moments they had shared.
But Henry wasn’t ready to lose her, not yet. Not ever.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “you’ve never forgotten me, not for a second. You never will.”
Her brow furrowed, uncertainty clouding her gaze. “But… I forget so many things, Henry. Sometimes I wake up and I don’t even know where I am, or who I am. What if one day… I forget you too?”
Henry gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender, as though holding onto her very essence. "You may forget some things, my love," he whispered, his voice soft but steady. "You might forget what we had for dinner last night, or what day it is. But you will never forget me. Not in your heart. We’ve lived a lifetime together, Eleanor. Every laugh, every tear, every touch—it’s all there, deep inside you. And as long as I’m here, I’ll remind you of it every day."
She looked at him with wide, searching eyes, as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite grasp. Slowly, her hand reached out for his, fingers trembling as they intertwined.
“I’m scared, Henry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to forget us.”
Henry felt a lump form in his throat. He had promised her a lifetime of love, and even though she couldn’t always remember, he would be there, holding onto her as she had once held him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Eleanor,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “I’ll be right here, by your side, every day. Even if you forget the sound of my voice, or the way I laugh, I will never forget you. And I’ll remind you of our love every single day. You’ll always be with me, in here.” He placed his hand over his heart.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Henry,” she murmured. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replied, his voice a whisper, as he held her close.
The moments they shared now were fleeting, each one feeling more precious than the last. Time was slipping away from them, but Henry knew one thing for certain—no matter how much she forgot, he would never stop reminding her of the love they had built, and the memories they
still held in their hearts.
