A Sunday with Mum
Some days with dementia hold small joys and real heartbreak, sometimes within the same afternoon. Today was one of those days.
Today I spent the day with Mum, keeping her company and trying to take some of the pressure off Dad.
A gentle start
The day started well. Mum had a lie-in and didn't get up until ten. All she wanted to do was put her coat on and walk down to the front gate, so that's what we did. Sometimes the smallest outing is enough.
At eleven she asked for a coffee. I gave her a jam doughnut to go with it, and a handful of Malted Milk biscuits. It was lovely to see her smile as she ate every last bit and finished her coffee.
When the world goes blurry
Afterwards we watched TV. As well as dementia, Mum has macular degeneration, so her sight is limited. She tries her best, but it often gets on top of her. When she asks what's happening, I try to explain and help her feel part of things.
Today she told me her eyes were burning and she was struggling to see. I was lost for words. So I did the one thing I knew she'd like: I gave her a hug. And it did the trick.
Fred goes without
We weren't that hungry at lunchtime, so it was simply coffee and toast, with a roast dinner planned for tea. Again, she ate everything without pausing. Usually she's more interested in feeding her food to the dog, but today Fred looked on sadly. Sharing never even crossed her mind.
Cheering on Lewis
After lunch we put on the morning's Grand Prix, which we'd recorded. Mum loves cheering on Lewis Hamilton, and she was pleased to see him recover to third after a disastrous start.
“When are Mum and Dad coming?”
After the Grand Prix, things took a turn. Mum became disorientated and started asking when her mum and dad were coming to take her home.
I never thought I would have to tell my own mum that her parents had died, around 55 years ago. Then she asked whether her sisters were coming to collect her, and I had to tell her that they had passed away too.
The tears and sobbing came, and it was so hard to see her that distraught. Dad and I spent a good hour reassuring her that we were here for her and that she didn't need to worry.
Back to calm
Eventually, things settled. Tablets taken, nightclothes on, and off she trotted to bed, happy and contented.
Days like this are a mix of the lovely and the heartbreaking. A coat and a walk to the gate, a doughnut, a hug, and Lewis on the podium, then an hour of grief for people she lost long ago.
If you're going through something similar
- When someone asks for a parent who has died, many families find it gentler to respond to the feeling rather than the facts, for example “You’re thinking about your mum. Tell me about her.” Dementia UK’s Admiral Nurses can talk this through with you on 0800 888 6678.
- For sight loss, the RNIB Helpline is on 0303 123 9999.
- Our guides: Living with dementia, Living with sight loss and Looking after yourself.
Martin
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