Dementia, my Mum, and I

I write because I am, I am because I write, I write because I must. Sometimes scholarly research, sometimes song lyrics, sometimes music, sometimes City stuff, sometimes... something else.

Those of you who've had someone close to you suffer from dementia will know what I mean when I say it is among the cruellest of conditions, those where the sufferer is aware of the decline in abilities and health but unable to do anything about it. There are so many variants, with so many effects. Mum's produced apathy alongside other problems.

And so we had a slow decline over the past 5 years. The last year and a bit, when she just took to her bed was difficult, but at least she still appreciated good food and drink, and was reasonably lucid. The last fortnight was rough, and we knew the end was near. By now, even the appreciation of food had been taken from her... Though she could resist and wind up my Aunt, her older sister, right to her last moments! We found her lifeless this morning. It is a consolation that she was at home til the end, and a relief that she is now at rest and at peace, away from the obvious pain and suffering of her last days.

95 years...a good innings by any reckoning, and a good life as a mother, nurse, and person. I can't help but wish things were different, but I believe that she is back amongst family and friends. The afterlife is unclear to us; nurses perhaps see and hear things beyond what most others do. I know that both she and my Aunt had experiences that cannot be explained by science, just art, and faith.

R.I.P. Ingrid Tamm SRN (04.01.1930 (Tallinn) - 23.10.2025 (St. Catharines)).

RCB

 

A heartfelt "Thank You" to all of you who have responded above, whether by a post or a 'like.' I am grateful for your expressions of support.

RCB

 

@bantam65 Yes, she was of the generation that was born at home, and died there. She would have been miserable in any sort of care home, and we would have hated putting her into one. It wasn't easy, but with the help of care workers coming in to look after her, we managed.

@Bantamshell , @Dennis , @MallorcaBantam Indeed it is a sad and cruel way to go. With Mum it was as if there was a series of switches controlling her life and activities, and every now and again, a switch would move from "I can" to "I can't" until there were no switches left. The one small victory we had was to at least get her again to sit up in bed for meals, after she had stopped doing so, and she continued to sit up til the last fortnight.

@Bronco , @Salty You are so right with that description. In fact, Broncs, you are describing my Mum exactly. Inside that Mum-shaped shell was an impostor -- maybe one is even justified in using Trumpian textspeak: there was a FAKE MUM!!! there. But, as you mentioned, Salty, every now and then a glimpse of the real Mum would appear. As I wrote, she knew enough to be able to wind up my Aunt even on her last day; she did eat a bit of, and seem to like, the desserts I made in those final days, she once said this was the nicest house we'd ever had, she remembered almost to the very last visit to thank the care workers who came in three times a day to look after her. Behind the fog there was still some understanding, and appreciation of others' efforts.

@Jayteebee That is both incredibly sad, and yet somehow consoling. Somewhere inside there was still a bit of the real Mum.

@TallinnBantam Thank you, and I will. At the moment it's all still too close, but I know that in time that fake Mum will fade into the background, balance will return, and the real Mum will re-emerge. Problem is, of course, that no one could ever have accused Mum of being a very patient person, and as the Estonian saying goes, a pine-cone does not fall far from the tree-trunk!

Thanks again to all for your expressions of support, and thanks just for reading. Writing helps just on its own, but readers complete the process.

RCB

 

Thank you for the kind words. As a recent Levellers song has it: "everybody wants the same thing / food, roof, and family"... I like to think that by giving that to Mum and Aunt in the closing stages of their lives, I've gone a fair ways towards repaying them for all they did for me in the opening stages of my life.

We did our best, but we are imperfect humans, and we were up against a condition that not only stopped Mum from using her rather considerable strength of mind to bring about healing, but actually turned that mind against her so that she resisted help. In the end we all became passengers rather than drivers.

I'm glad that the real Dad returned to you. I can sense it beginning to happen for me. Looking at old photos helps -- I'm using a photo of a 23-year-old Mum in her uniform for the death-notices. It was taken at the hospital in Batley, where she had just become the youngest night sister ever in that hospital. Who knows if that record stood; I suppose the hospital is long gone now too.

RCB