Three in the morning. Witching hour. The lair was still with sounds of slumber drifting from different corners. Candle light warmed the dojo with a dim illumination. One breath in. One breath out. Slow and deliberate he started the kata at the basics. Repetitive movement. Punch, sweep leg, come forward, again. Punch, sweep leg, come forward, again. Hand changing shape for the next repetition like a new phrase. A half turn, repeat. Breathing in with each contraction. Breathing out with each extension.
Melting into new a movement. High kick to the left, low punch, block to the right, repeat. The events of the night faded. Donnie’s rambling, Mikey’s nonsense, Raph’s anger. Fading. Fading. The multitude of thoughts that crossed his mind every second when he had to battle and watch his brothers. Fading. The plans he had to come up with and alter should anything go wrong. Fading. The shouts for his name if any of them were in danger. Fading. The weight of it all. Fading.
All that remained was his father’s face. His look of pride. His look of disappointment. The touch of his hand on his shoulder when he needed comfort. The sheer determination in his eyes when he thought of nothing but protecting his sons. Leonardo lost his footing. It wasn’t that he couldn’t chase away the memories. He simply did not want to. In the quiet of the lair when no one was around, this was his time to see him.
It had been exactly a year now since his passing. They had always feared he would meet his doom at the hands of an enemy they could not conquer and in a sense, that was true if you considered age the enemy. Splinter was old and there was no promise he would live forever. The countless battles, broken bones, concussions and the like would eventually catch up. It started slow when he forgot little things such as what he was about to do or which room he was going to. Soon it was becoming more frequent and he would block out whole conversations altogether.
Leonardo was the first to notice but everything was explained away by Splinter and he could not bring himself to argue. Donatello was a close second. When the resident genius starts showing concerns, then it means there is something to worry about. It took a lot of effort to finally convince Splinter that something was off. The brothers had to set up an intervention. Leonardo threw a double punch as he recalled the shouting and the tears before their father gave in to the acceptance that his mind was not the same.
It was decided they would sneak into a hospital to use a CAT scan. For this, they were grateful of their ninja training. Donatello had prepared by researching what to look for in CAT scans to better assist with diagnosing the problem. When they returned and Donatello carefully studied the images, he went pale and could not find his voice for a while. He later explained that their father was at an early stage of Alzheimer’s disease. They did not know how long he had before it progressed. Rat biology was easy enough to study but a mutated rat was a whole other ball park. He had already lived well past the average life expectancy of a normal rat, but there was no telling how far that would go.
Leonardo tumbled into a roll followed by an uppercut as he recalled the months that followed. They tried medication; Aricept and Namenda but it made their master aggressive and he began to refuse to take it. Next, Donatello decided to work on his own cure. A few months of trials, failures and Splinter being a pin cushion caused their sensei to give up on that route. Donatello never stopped trying, though he stopped drawing Splinter’s blood. The brothers coped in their own way. Michelangelo lost himself in comic books and video games, Donatello worked on a cure in the lab and Raphael went out with Casey. Leonardo stayed by their father. Always watching. Always available. Always there to support him.
As the disease progressed, so did the confusion. Leonardo whirled into a roundhouse kick, thrown back into the scene they walked in after a mission. A small fire was in the sink from where he had thrown a burning pan and his hand were severely burnt. He was wearing the same robe he wore yesterday and he looked extremely disheveled. When asked what had happened, he could not properly explain himself. That was when it was decided that they would take turns watching their master during the missions.
In the beginning, it was hardest on Raphael who confessed that he would end up yelling at their master. He took to meditating more often after he had screamed at him so harshly that he brought tears to their sensei’s eyes. It was a critical time to control his anger. The more he kept it in check at home, the more it came out in the missions. Even then, he began to learn how to reel it in. For the sake of their father.
Donatello became a bit of an annoyance to the rat as he often asked several questions and became overprotective of his diet and personal care. He continued to try to come up with different medications to either reverse or cure the disease. All of that came to an end when his latest attempt resulted in a seizure. Leonardo moved through a block as he recalled the lecture he gave his genius brother. He finally eased up on being a mother hen and nurtured his father with love and care.
Michelangelo had the least difficulty with their master. His sunny disposition and ability to talk nonsense kept their sensei in good spirits. It was exhausting for him and depressed the youngest turtle to watch their master’s mental decline. The brothers would notice the puffiness of his eyes in the morning after a night of crying but they did not say a word. They understood the pain of it.
Leonardo would occupy him with poetry and exercise. They would spar and work through the katas. He had hoped it would keep his mind sharp. There were days he would forget what they were doing and Leonardo would have to stop himself from connecting a move, else his father would be injured. Sparring soon stopped.
Over time, Splinter began taking on more rodent-like behavior. He stopped speaking and started to walk on all fours. There were days two of them would have to stay at the lair to make sure he was safe. Personal care had to be done for him. He bit Raphael one night during a bath and the hotheaded turtle had to leave the room else he would have struck their father. Soon his interest in eating diminished and over time he was bedridden.
Drawing out his swords, Leonardo began to swipe in a graceful pattern, one blade following the other. He gritted his teeth thinking on the last night. The brothers surrounded him on his death bed. Their poor father who had suffered through two years of a decline. His breathing was labored and they knew he was not long for this world. Suddenly, he spoke.
“My...sons...” No more words followed after that but they could tell with the look of his eyes, a moment of lucidity graced them. He looked at them all with love in his eyes. Leonardo swiped his blades downwards, remembering how their master looked at each and everyone of them with pride. He swiped them upward reliving the way he looked at him in his final moment and squeezed his hand. A growl began to emit from his lips as he blindly cut at the air, suddenly transforming into a roar as the last breath leaving his beloved father flashed in his mind.
Panting, the eldest turtle dropped his swords. It was then that he noticed the warmth of the tears that caressed his cheek as they slid down. He let the weight of the pain drop him down to his knees. He let the sobs take over. Much like the night their father passed, he waited until his brothers were asleep before he let the emotion out freely. He held it in for a year and now it was time to let it out again.
Standing outside of the dojo, out of sight, Raphael hung his head as silent tears ran down his cheeks. Crying for his master. Crying for his brother. Donatello listened from his room to the cries of the eldest until he put headphones on to drown it out and give him the auditory privacy; his own eyes wet with grief. Michelangelo hugged his pillow to his face shuddering with his own sobs, now intensified with his older brother’s pain. Tonight, they mourned in unison.
Together, there is nothing your four minds cannot accomplish. Help each other, draw upon one another, and always remember the power that binds you. The same is what brought me here tonight, that which I gladly return with my final words: I love you all, my sons.
