That’s what I am apparently. I’m a little chuffer. This came at the end of a difficult visit today. Mum had just finished lunch and perhaps it was post-prandial relaxation, but she kept her head bowed. It was the first time in our eight year dementia journey that Mum has seemingly not wanted to make eye contact with me. Another sign?
I told her about a recent weekend break in Pembrokeshire, to the place I’d taken her on her last holiday seven years ago. Of course she wouldn’t remember that but it’s hard when her response is a jumble of words, most of which appear made up and none of which make sense. Sense? Is there anything about dementia which makes sense?
As so often, music proved our saviour. Mum nodded along, head still bowed, fingers tapping. But when Ronnie Hilton told us he’d seen the mouse he spies every time I visit Mum, she shouted:
He’s there on the stairs, Mum, where he always is.
Eventually, Mum lifted her head. She smiled, her eyes suggesting that, chuffer or not, I’m still there for her, somewhere. We said goodbye with a kiss. Until next time. Mum, me and those mice with their clogs.