I took this photo with my mobile phone camera two summers ago. Mum went to stay with one of her old school friends who she had known since they were both 11 years old. I joined them in Bournemouth that summer and we had been drinking wine in the garden when this photo was taken. Mum had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease earlier that year and she was terribly frightened about what was happening to her.
While she stayed at her friend’s house that summer, we kept her busy and took her out during the day, but at night she sat and sobbed in her bed, too scared to turn the light out. She asked me to explain what was happening to her brain and if she was going to be alright. All I can remember thinking is that I could not lie to her, but I don’t really remember what I told her now. How do you tell someone they have Alzheimer’s Disease? And at such a young age? All I could think of was at some point she would not know she had AD because she would forget. But that wasn’t a comforting thought. There is nothing comforting about AD.
I remember on our way back from shopping in Bournemouth one day, we decided to get the bus back to the house as we had been on our feet all day. The three of us waited at the bus stop and I will never forget mum turning to me and asking if she’d met me before. I tried to make light of the fact that of course she had, for I was her daughter. She was incredibly upset by this, but I then told her that the most important thing was that I wouldn’t forget who she was. Words that now seem to have much more significance than they did back then.
My dear friend – my deepest sympathies. As corny as it sounds, the greatest testament to your mother is you, your life, your achievements, your character. To me, that is epitomised by how great a person and a friend you are to the people around you, and how you helped me through my own trying times.
I will never forget your lovely mum and her sweet and strong nature either. To remember, all anyone has to do is look at you.
You have survived a terrible ordeal. You and your mum are clearly much loved by those around you and you have written beautifully about her impossible struggle with AD.
There are others out here embarking on a similar path who have drawn comfort from your stoicism. There is comfort also in the knowledge that there is an end to the horror of AD; and a time when normal life will be resumed.
Commiserations for your loss.
all my love as ever and always xoxoxo
Cara – I have never got round to reading your website before and am sitting here with tears pouring down my face. You know your Mum and I were the same age and I think of how lucky I am and how sad you must be.How helpless you must have felt.
Onwards and upwards – good times will come again!
Hx
My deepest sympathies, Lauren just told me. Your piece nearly moved me to tears, my grandmother currently has advanced parkinsons and your description of your conversation on the bus is so… human. Your mother is still alive inside with you. Hugs.
I understand this post all too well.
Your mum looks like a wonderful lady.
~m