“He’s a strange bloke,” Mum laughed as we idly flicked through some photographs this morning.
Two things struck me as she said it. Firstly, I don’t think I’d ever heard Mum talk about a “bloke” before. A chap or a fellow, perhaps, but never a bloke.
Secondly, the “bloke” in question was my father, the man to whom she’d been married for nearly 47 years when he passed away in 2009.
For some living with dementia, old photographs can be a comfort, a link with a past largely forgotten. Sadly not for Mum. She doesn’t even seem to recognise herself, let alone anyone else. Her passport to the country of her past, our past, has long expired.
The “strange bloke”, celebrating being married to Mum for 40 years in 2002.