March 2020 – returning home
My workplace was ahead of the curve when it came to remote working.
I remember returning to my parents back in March 2020. On alighting the train, I crossed the bridge, the hills rising to greet me as they always had.
I’d decided to travel back with some trepidation. I’d been commuting to London in the days prior to going and was scared that I might do harm to two very vulnerable people: my Dad has dementia, whilst Mum has multiple, physical health problems.
I knew I had done the right thing as soon as I walked through the door to encounter a very cheerful father and a worn-out looking Mum who, of course, had never commented on the extent to which she was feeling the strain of being the one racing around after Dad, for his medication, his meals and fulfilling his needs generally. I remember thinking, what about your needs Mum?
At that time, Mum could still drive and walk around town. Now, thinking about the situation then, a mere four years later, I’m shocked at such a rapid decline, but she has never been in robust health.
And, why am I returning to the beginning of lockdown now? Because I’ve just come across jottings in my diaries of some of the things Dad said to me then and through the intervening years. I suppose I wrote little snippets down because I was fearful of the ravages of dementia that time would bring.
Dad’s comments take me back and bring my parents’ rapid decline into sharp focus. Dad doesn’t have the capacity to comment in this way now. He knows who we are, but he’s losing vocabulary daily.
And, thinking of Dad then and now inevitably leads to Mum, who has long since ceased to drive and can’t even walk round the corner to the post box, never mind rush about town. That’s the same Mum, who I find most mornings, sitting on the end of her bed, head in lap, because she’s fallen asleep before getting back into bed.
So, I sit and read and am taken back to a short time ago, which feels like forever:
April 2020
Dad today, comes and hugs me.
‘Thanks my old mate’, he says.
—
May 2020
Dad to me: ‘You could break my heart’.
‘Why Dad?’
‘Because I love you so much’.
—
March 2021
Dad about Mum: ‘I’ve loved her for a number of years (sixty five at that point!) and I still do’.
Me: ‘And she loves you, don’t you Mum’.
Mum: ‘God, I do’.
I’ve jotted down ‘as if surprised’ after Mum’s comment, and that brings a smile to my face now!
—
June 2021
Dad to me: ‘I have to tell you, your Mum and I have had a do, and she’s gone’.
Me: ‘Where Dad? You mean she’s left you?’
Dad: ‘Yes’
Me: ‘But, she’s upstairs, Dad’.
Dad goes upstairs and encounters Mum.
‘Never leave me Mam’.
Mum: ‘I won’t, you daft bat’.
Dad to me: ‘Don’t forget that I love your mother’.
—
April 2022
Dad tells me that he loves me, my sister and Mum dearly.
He asks me to let Mum know: ‘Mention that to her the next time you see her’.
‘You’ll be seeing her too, Dad’.
‘Will I?’
‘Yes, she hasn’t deserted you’.
Dad: ‘I’m a lucky man; I’ve got a great family’.
Me: ‘And, Tracey and I are lucky; we’ve got a great Mum and Dad’.
—
Nov 2022
Me: ‘I love you, Dad, never forget’.
Dad: ‘I won’t, my daughter; you’re a darling’.
Me: ‘You are, too, Dad’.
—
Dec 2022
Dad to Mum:
‘The first time I saw you was the best day of my life’.
—
And my Dad, Summer 2023, some months before we had to place him into care permanently, the entry which really breaks my heart:
‘My girls, never leave me. I think the world of you’.
Me: ‘Tracey, Mum and I think the world of you, Dad. We love you’.
Dad: ‘And I love all my girls’.
—
So, 2020 is my starting point for blogs about life here with Mum and Dad, and I’ll add more over the coming weeks, written then and through the years since.
To those out there watching your parents fade, I know how hard it is.
To those out there losing your mother, father, husband, wife, brother, sister to dementia, I understand.
I’m with you on this journey.
