MY FATHER REFUSED TO EAT ANYTHING BUT THE BLUE CANDIES HIS NURSE GAVE HIM
His hand trembled reaching for the glass of water, but his eyes were fixed on the small, crinkled wrapper. The hospital room smelled sterile and faintly of old flowers. He hadn’t touched the meal tray, just kept pointing his trembling finger at the small plastic bag. “Just one more,” he rasped, voice thin like old paper, barely audible.
The nurse, Sarah, looked sympathetic but firm. “Mr. Henderson, please try eating something substantial. These are just sugar.” But his grip tightened on my hand, surprisingly strong. “Sarah knows,” he whispered, gaze fixed on her, “they help me remember important things.”
Sarah sighed softly and peeled open a blue candy. As he slowly sucked it, a strange, peaceful calm settled over his face. His cloudy eyes seemed to clear for a moment, looking past me as if seeing someone else. Then, barely a breath, he murmured a name I hadn’t heard in decades.
My heart pounded. I leaned closer, trying to understand the name, feeling a chill despite the warm room. Remembering? Before I could ask, the doctor walked swiftly in, face grim. “We need to talk, Sarah.”
Sarah paled, and the doctor glanced at me, then back at her with a chillingly casual comment about “the blue ones.”
👇 Full story continued in the comments…I watched Sarah and the doctor leave, their hushed voices fading down the hall. My father, still faintly smelling of the blue candy’s sweet, artificial berry scent, seemed to drift back into himself, his gaze clouding over again. The brief spark of clarity was gone. I gently squeezed his hand. “Dad? Who was that name? Who were you remembering?”
He blinked slowly, his expression blank. “Water,” he whispered, his voice weak once more. “Need water.”
I poured him a glass, holding it steady for him. The silence in the room stretched, heavy with unasked questions. Sarah returned a few minutes later, alone. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the usual professional kindness was mixed with a deep weariness. She avoided my gaze for a moment before walking over to the bedside.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Dr. Evans… he wanted to talk to me about Mr. Henderson’s care plan. About the… the blue ones.”
I looked at the bag of candies on the nightstand. “What *are* they, Sarah? He says they help him remember. And just now, he said a name…”
Sarah sighed, pulling up a chair. “They’re… a comfort, mostly. We sometimes use things like this for patients who are agitated or refusing food. A little bit of sugar, a familiar taste. But for your father…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “He fixated on these particular candies. We found they seemed to… well, calm him like nothing else. And yes, occasionally, very occasionally, they seem to unlock something. Like a key that turns for just a second.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice further. “They contain a very mild, non-addictive compound. Nothing approved for memory *treatment*, mind you, but sometimes, in certain individuals with advanced… cognitive decline… it appears to briefly stimulate certain areas of the brain. It’s highly unpredictable. Dr. Evans is concerned about giving him too many, about the potential side effects over time, minimal as they are, given how frail he is. And frankly, there are ethical questions about inducing these fleeting moments when they cause distress or confusion afterwards.”
“But he remembered,” I insisted, my voice trembling slightly. “He said a name. An old name.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes full of sympathy. “Sometimes, it’s a memory that’s very deeply embedded. Often emotional ones. Like… a first love, or a significant event from youth.”
My mind raced, trying to place the murmured name. It was a woman’s name, one I hadn’t heard associated with my father in decades, maybe ever. Could it be… my mother’s sister? An old friend from his hometown before he met my mother?
I looked at my father, his head tilted back on the pillow, eyes closed now. The blue candy wrapper lay discarded on the sheet. It wasn’t a cure. It wasn’t magic. It was a small, sweet key turning in a complex lock for a fleeting second.
“What was the name?” Sarah asked gently, sensing my thoughts.
I whispered it to her. She looked thoughtful. “That’s… a long time ago, then. A beautiful memory, perhaps?”
I didn’t know. I only knew that for a brief moment, my father hadn’t been lost in the fog of illness. He had been somewhere else, somewhere clear, remembering someone important enough to surface even now. The blue candies weren’t just sugar; they were fragile moments of connection to a past that was slowly slipping away. Dr. Evans might be grim, and Sarah might be weary, but for me, that one name, sparked by a simple candy, was a precious, heartbreaking gift. I picked up another blue candy from the bag, turning the crinkled wrapper over in my fingers, wondering what other forgotten stories might be hidden within my father, just waiting for another brief, sweet moment to be unlocked.