I suppose it’s easy to overthink Mum’s dementia.
It’s a brain disorder, an atrophy of abilities.
In simpler terms it’s been described as the long goodbye.
Each sufferer experiences it differently.
So each family has a different tale to tell.
I’ve joined a forum called myalzteam.com which allows us to ask and answer questions, give hugs and, most importantly, read about other people in similar situations to our own.
Some folk say pray: for what I’m not sure.
Not for strength: even in my most wretched moments I have the strength to pull myself together.
Not for a reason: just as there is no good reason for an all powerful entity to create my son’s broken body, there’s no reason to make older folk die a slow confusing death. None.
Not for a cure: tho scientists are inching forward, Mum’s situation will just progress.
I know prayer helps folk in need but, with the greatest respect, it’s not for me.
A better coping strategy is to try to understand by looking at the bigger picture.
Taking a step back and up helps me gain clarity.
Mum is 75: not a great age today but a decent one. She’s seen my children every week for the last 18 years. She’s been cared for and loved by a close family and a husband of 50 years. She emigrated, ran a Salvation Army Citadel, was a fine knitter and dragged herself out of the slums of post war London.
Mum’s contribution to my life and that of my brothers is immeasurable. Everything I do is a result of her bringing me up right. Many of my parental decisions are guided by her hand.
She did the job right.
As she inches away from me, I know deep down that she’s still deep inside my core.
The remnant of who she was may soon just be a broken body but her thoughts and morality and grit are a part of me.