Fog of Family

It was a crisp morning that made the air feel fresh but hinted at the oncoming bite of winter. Sarah sat at the bus stop, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the steady stream of cars passing.

Beside her sat a man in his mid-seventies, who appeared as bundled up as she was. He wore a blue jacket, the sleeves slightly too long for his arms, and a scarf that did not match anything.

He looked at her, and eventually, he cleared his throat. “Cold morning,” he said, his voice warm but unpolished.

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, staring at the ground. “And it’ll get colder before Spring gets here.”

There was a brief silence, a quiet moment that stretched out like an awkward lull in a conversation that neither party was sure how to steer.

“You’ve got that look,” the man said, eyes squinting at her in a way that almost seemed like concern. “Like, something’ has been weighing on you for a while.”

Sarah sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just… my dad, you know? No one wants to help me with him anymore. He’s got dementia, and I’m the only one who does anything about it. I can’t do it all alone. I need a break, but no one even cares enough to step in.”

The man nodded, though his expression seemed more perplexed than empathetic. “That’s tough. Family’s supposed to step up in times like this. What do they say when you ask for help?”

“Nothing,” Sarah said bitterly. “It’s always ‘We’re too busy,’ or ‘He’s your dad, not ours.’ I’ve had to rearrange my whole life to take care of him. And every time I turn around, it’s like I’m the only one who cares.”

She looked up at the man beside her, expecting him to offer some understanding, maybe a word of comfort. But he just nodded again, his eyes still distant.

“Yeah, people can be selfish, can’t they? They don’t understand what it’s like to carry that kind of burden. They think it’s your responsibility. But hey, that’s life, right?”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she muttered.

The bus finally appeared in the distance, and she stood up quickly, brushing off her jeans. She turned to look at the man, fully taking in his features.

“Dad, our bus is almost here,” she said.

The man glanced back at her with confusion before he nodded and gave her a weak smile. “Yeah, honey, I think the bus is here,” he said, his voice a little foggy but still vaguely familiar.

Sarah took her father’s arm, guiding him onto the vehicle.