I'm let onto the household by F, a jovial Zimbabwean care worker, and we walk up together towards Mum. I see her looking at us both blankly, her mouth hanging open. I know she's been told I'm coming but I'm curious to see if she'll recognise me. Nothing. A few steps away, I relent and say "Hello Mum". She checks both my face and F's face before deciding that it was me who spoke. Then she beams.
It's her 82nd Birthday, and we admire the flowers sent by my Brother-in-law, open the cards that have come (significantly fewer this year, but still treasured). Then I open the huge box of clothes I've brought. I spent last night sewing labels into each and every one, and I've taken photos of them all. I'll be interested to see how long they remain in her wardrobe.
After lunch (and much birthday cake), I take Mum downstairs for a hair appointment. When the hairdresser is ready for us, I help Mum over to the washing station, noting that the seat she's been sitting on is now soaking wet. Mum is oblivious, and I wait until her attention is elsewhere before I find some paper towels and set about cleaning up. Dementia is like being a passenger in an aircraft coming in to land through cloud: it's rarely a smooth descent and there's no indication of how quickly the ground is racing up to meet you. This wet seat hits me like a little air-pocket.
Back on the household, F tells me that my visit has made his day and that what I've done for my Mum has warmed his heart. I'm always at a loss to respond when someone praises me like this. It's not as if I'm looking after Mum personally at home - that would be heroic. I feel guilty for accepting his high regard.
I'm not the pilot, I'm just another passenger on the plane.
7 comments:
HAPPY 82th BIRTHDAY, AUNT WIT!!! (Sorry... not very creative today... I didn't mean at all to be sarcastic, just don't know how to call your Mom.)
Now, every now and then, you GOTTA sit down and take the praise and feel good about yourself, Greg. So let yourself fill with happiness that other people praise you, will ya, for once!
I noticed that the blog entry said it's posted on Thursday... I swear I have been clicking your little web-link over this weekend a few times... hmm... suspicious...
Busted. Yes, I was too tired to write this for a few days but I wanted to date it for Mum's Birthday. I guess I can't fool you, Humpy.
Have you thought Greg that F may not see such devotion in families of his other "charges". How often do we hear of people having no visitors.
Despite the fact that Mum may not recognise you there you are time and again visiting her and taking her your love and affection. That is why you deserve the praise that F so genuinely heaped on you. Take it on board Greg. Your Mum is blessed. Love the "little devil" horns...........
Thanks, Trish. I'm glad you enjoyed the horns - I couldn't resist the photo but had no scare story to justify posting it (thankfully)
It's a sweet picture of your Mom. And nice to spend time with her on her day, even just for the symbolism.
I think I can really relate to that part about being at a loss to respond to praise, although it's hard to put into words. You always do a good job with that.
Ha Ha.... I like that in relating to my discomfort around praise you manage to praise me for expressing it well... arghhh.
Actually, I like praise for my work, so thank you LSL.
Yes its odd, isn't it, that blank stare when you first greet them. I'm always wondering whether today will be the day that it doesn't dawn on mum who I am. Thank goodness they're oblivious to the 'accidents', mum always said she wouldn't want to live if she couldn't keep herself clean. At least with dementia, there doesn't seem to be any sense of embarrassment or shame.
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