So, I realise I am posting progress slightly out of order… you’ve already seen day 7 and here, now, is Day 6. It’s really not much different is it?
On the day, I recorded the following:
Gentle stitching restored me this afternoon after another non stop day.
As I was stitching I was thinking how frightening it must be not to be able to remember what’s happened that day. But I also wished that each evening I could wipe most of that day’s memories… this is not how I want to remember Mum.
So, here you have a picture of Mum in her younger days, off to some ball or a party. Or possibly a wedding. I’ll never know
7 months on from writing that, I don’t recall the precise nature of that day – but I do remember having a real long-lasting sadness that my own memories of Mum as she had been, an independent, assertive, funny, kind, clever woman, those memories were beginning to be overwhelmed by my current experience of her. I wasn’t just sad, I was also angry. But perhaps I was angry at all manner of things, not just that others might have their memories of Mum intact, while I saw her at her most vulnerable, in ways she would have found humiliating in her previous existence.
I also recognise that it is an enormous privilege to care for a parent, to see them in all their vulnerability, and just to still have them in your life at this grand old age.
On many occasions over the last year I have reflected how much Mum continues to teach us, even when she’s not aware that this is what she is doing. Without a doubt she has taught me to appreciate the small things, the details, the delights close to home.
A couple of years ago, when Mum could no longer get out and about, when her world felt (to me) diminished, she continued to find joy in what was immediately around her: she fed the birds every day (and when she forgot, the wood pigeon would peck on her window and demand food); she tended her garden, and when she could no longer manage it, she enjoyed having a gardener; she loved propagating new plants, and regularly rotated the plant on the Chinese carved chest (a lovely sunny spot) so it was something beautiful and in flower. My social media tells me that a year ago her clivia was flowering – I have a feeling that this was grown from a seed that she brought back from South Africa in her pocket some years ago.
Finally, if you can, please consider making a small donation to my fundraiser for Alzheimer Scotland. I will be enormously grateful. It won’t stop Mum’s dementia progressing, and it won’t stop someone else from finding out that someone they love has dementia – but your donation will mean that no-one needs go through this on their own. Because it’s lonely, and frightening – and that’s just for those who love someone with dementia. I still cannot imagine how distressing and exhausting it must be for Mum.
Thank you.
Shewolfinthevalley 
❤️ Thinking of you.
It is a privilege but it is overwhelming emotionally. Whatever I managed to do to make life easier I was always left with the feeling that I could have done more.
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