It’s three months since Mum died. In some ways, it feels like yesterday and in others, a lifetime ago. Even reading that back feels strange but my regular visits to Mum, the singing, the tears, the laughter, seem to belong to a different part of my life from which I now feel strangely detached.
I met up with a dear friend whom I hadn’t seen in those three months and she asked me about my feelings for Mum twelve weeks on. Mum visits my thoughts every day, whether in the practical business of settling her estate and selling her house, or via more emotional paths. Rarely, though, do I think in any depth about losing Mum. Today, I did. I miss Mum and I miss seeing the staff and residents of the care home. They were part of my life for six years. I’m also missing the Mum I knew before dementia cruelly picked apart her life. So, thank you dementia, for a double dose of mourning.
But please don’t get the idea that I’m mired in mourning or sick with sadness. I’m not. I love the challenge of playing a small part in making life better for those affected by dementia today and in the future. I’ve found my appetite for campaigning for the Alzheimer’s Society renewed. Never has the subject of dementia been higher in the public consciousness and never have we had a better chance of making a real difference. Those who preside over us seem stuck for ideas – the “dementia tax” proves that.
So, thank you Mum. You gave me so much when you were alive and you’re still there, inspiring me today.
The blog will go on because she’s still my Mum.