“The Italian verb to forget, overlook, leave out or behind or neglect”
Now when I remember those visits, I wish I had tried harder to connect with her. But it all seemed so useless. Feelings of despair and sadness threatened to crash down on me like gigantic surf. Gigantic ocean waves were pounding on our memories and relationship turning them into smooth, hard sand. Her life was all being erased forever. The waves were taking away the highs, lows, ripples and contours that make up our lives until there would be nothing left. Every step into the Nursing Home I felt a wave of grief each time I entered. Even though Mum was still very much alive in that place.
When she first settled in there was a sense of calm and peace, she was still aware and felt at ease knowing she had constant care and people around her 24/7. She was a people person and enjoyed the company of others, no matter who they were. I cannot in a million words describe the very joy and amount of love she brought into people’s lives. That is not just bias because she was my mother but because I believe it to be true. For her to lose her memories and even recognition of her own children is such a heavy burden for all involved to carry.
I know I tried but I always think, did I try enough? All I really wanted was for her to be happy. Is that what I really wanted though? No, I wanted her back, that is what I really wanted. I wanted her to remember my name, remember her grandchildren’s names. I wanted to scream at her because I couldn’t believe she could forget the last 75 years.
But Dementia is cruel disease. How are we supposed to deal with it?
I try to remember now the glimmers of her in those visits.
The day she unwrapped a ceramic hen and giggled out loud and said my name.
When the staff helped her plant flowers in raised garden beds and she watered them daily.
The day she confided to me that the cranky old lady in the corner was a bitch and her lunchtime friend said “they give her vodka you know”. I said “No” surely not, Mum grinned and said “they should then we could get some sleep”.
The day the staff asked me to please change her menu so she does not get sausages because she hates them. Then lunch was delivered and guess what it was? Sausages. I said Mum, do you hate sausages? She frowned clamped her lips together and nodded her head. I was so exasperated by the rigidness of the rules I just wanted to scream.
So many of her behaviours were upsetting, walking around with no clothes on, changing her clothes a dozen times a day, talking to pigeons.
Covid made it worse, nobody could visit at all. That immense feeling of loneliness alone would have killed a social being like her.
When she was at the end, I held her hand, she was so small. Even then I just wanted her back. Something just something. I swear she squeezed my hand back. I swear. She died on her birthday. We think that was a message, she liked to make things easy for us all, always putting herself first. Don’t’ forget me she was saying.
I have not forgotten you Mum. I will never forget.