Indy turned the artifact over and over in his hands, remembering all the hardship that it took to get it. The pitfalls, the snakes, the sand in his eyes. It was a great adventure, despite some of the dangers — or because of them! — and in the end, he had been successful in his quest. And then, just as quickly, Indy forgot the whole thing and did not know why he was holding this dirty old object in his hand that he didn’t even know what it was.
A nurse entered his room and changed his catheter. “Now, Dr. Jones,” the nurse said, “you know you’re not supposed to touch any of your old things. You’re too forgetful, you’re going to break them.” She pointed to a shelf on which sat the now destroyed Arc of the Covenant, and a broken Holy Grail, and a bunch of other stuff he’d messed up. The nurse wiped Indiana Jones’s butt with a damp washcloth. Some Jello sat on the nightstand next to his bed from earlier in the day.
At night, when the lights were off throughout the home, Indy’s mind wandered. He thought of his deceased father, who had been just like him: curious, and super old. He thought of his former girlfriends, which of course led him to think of his penis, which was now failing him even more than his mind. A few tears crept out of the sides of his eyes, but by the time the salt hit his lips, he’d already forgotten why he was crying.
Later, but not much later, he died.