Where my mum is … and sometimes isn’t
My mum is stuck between thoughts and words. They grow further apart with each passing day.
She still greets me with a cheery ‘Hello’ when I visit. And then, without fail, comes the question – ‘Any news from the outside world?’
It’s like she’s working from a script. She asks it every visit – multiple times. This question always catches me off guard and makes me wonder how uneventful our everyday lives can sometimes be – because life is often a series of mundane non-events. I rarely have any news from the outside world, although I occasionally invent some.
‘No, Mum, nothing comes to mind.’
And then, her usual retort: ‘Are you going around with your eyes closed?’
It stings a little. Not because it’s harsh, but because it sounds like she’s scolding me, and that’s not really her style. She has these stock replies – one-liners that get her through the day.
Sparking Her Memory
Sometimes I can draw her out with stories – my stories, which are really hers. Stories of her mum, her brothers, the street she grew up on – my memories of all that. She listens, smiles, her eyes sparkling as she lives in my memory for a little while.
Then she’ll go silent. Blank. I can see that she has, sort of, switched off. Paused. Like she doesn’t exist in that moment.
It reminds me of the old telly we had years ago, which, now and then, used to go on the blink. We’d give it a thump on the side to bring it back to life. I don’t think we could do this with Mum. 🙂
There are moments when I see her reaching – grasping for a name, a place, a word, fragments floating in silence – only to find it slip through her fingers, like sand.
A Gentle Nudge
There was a time when a gentle nudge could bring back the memory. But less so now. Still, there are other times when she can be quite lucid and sharp, recalling a distant story or a name from the past with perfect clarity, as if it happened this morning.
And then, she’ll ask that question again – ‘Any news from the outside world?’
And again. And again.
Empty Spaces
Dementia isn’t just forgetting. It’s the slow unravelling of the self. A quiet retreat from the only world you’ve ever known. And the thing is – those empty spaces are not replaced by anything. They’re replaced with nothing, just an absence of being.
And in those empty spaces, it’s up to us – the ones still here – to fill them, as best we can.
Our Birthdays
Last March was her birthday. Mine too. We are both Pisceans. I popped in to give her a card and have a chat. We hugged, kind of. It was one of those limp hugs that was more a formality than a genuine expression of affection.
So I said to her, ‘Will you stand up from that fucking chair and give me a proper hug?’
She laughed. A real laugh. And stood up for that hug. I told her I loved her, and she said, ‘I love you too.’
I’ve discovered that a little shock goes a long way with my mum. Dementia hands you these moments, and you take them where you find them. And in fairness, we do have many of those moments with her at this time.
Inheritance of Memory
Someday soon, she’ll fade further. And her memories will become ours. We’ll become the keepers of her stories, her childhood, her family and her life. They will be our inheritance and live in us until we forget them, too.
This isn’t intended to be a sad post. It’s just what it is – it’s about life, patience, compassion, and being present. It involves a new kind of listening and a new kind of remembering.
And it reminds me again that I need to pay closer attention, especially when someone feels far away.
A Little Context
For clarity: my mum is 91 years of age. Despite everything, she is in good shape and lives at home with my dad. Carers visit daily, and they’ve become part of the family. They’re exceptional – and without them, my mum would be in residential care.
She’s very content. I used to hear others say this about their relatives and often thought that it didn’t seem enough – to be just content. However, I now understand what this means in the context of my mum’s situation. Content is good.
If you’ve read this far, thanks.
