I’m off on my holidays at the weekend so I won’t see Mum for a couple of weeks. I told her all about it today but I suspect it meant nothing to her. This from someone who always wanted to see every photograph and hear about every stop along the way of holidays gone by.
I bade Mum a fonder farewell than usual when I left. It’s silly but although Mum is full of smiles and laughter at the moment, I can’t be a hundred per cent confident she’ll know me next time I visit. I’m sure she will but with dementia in the game, being sure isn’t quite enough.
I was very moved recently by a blog post written by Beth Britton. It’s entitled “Amour” – you can read it here: http://d4dementia.blogspot.co.uk/
In it, she talks about caring for her father and she says she made sure she told him she loved him every day. I have to confess that I’d got out of the habit of telling Mum how much she means to me and I felt very guilty. I guess I’d stopped doing it regularly because, often, I didn’t see a response. But that’s not the point is it? You shouldn’t tell someone you love them just to hear it back.
Today, though, knowing I wouldn’t see Mum for more than a fortnight, I told Mum how I felt:
“I love you Mum.”
Simple as that. She positively guffawed. It wasn’t the response I’d expected, nor the one I’d hoped for. But I wasn’t put off.
“I’ve loved you for nearly 50 years. Can you believe that? 50 years! And I love you as much today.”
By now she’d stopped laughing. She smiled.
Short on words; long, how very long, on emotion. I choked back a tear.
We held hands. I left. I’m looking forward to my holiday but I’m so looking forward to seeing Mum again.