My Mum always wrote in a diary daily things appointments nothing exciting. Then the diaries became a coping device a way for her to stay on track, to hide her dementia. She was able to appear as if she was in control, not forgetting and tracking things. As her dementia increased her writing deteriorated as did her cognitive processes. The writing became less easy to read and made no sense. They were the scribblings of a dying brain and then, every now and again would be the lucid but terrifying pleas and comments laced with paranoia and fear as she realised what was happening.
I have 10 years worth of these date book diaries and she is gone, But I cannot bear to read them or destroy them, They sit, packed in a box. And I wonder will I one day be remembered by the lucidity of my blogs or online statements? Both my parents were stolen by dementia.
This blog was inspired by another blog post, a visual representation of another mother’s declining ability to continue with a much-loved hobby.
I think about the things I have stored of my Mums. The half-completed jumper, it just needs a sleeve and to be sewn up. A patchwork quilt not salvageable. Christmas cards written and never sent. Receipts for shopping with, “why did I buy that?” written on them.
Dementia destroys not only those we love who have the disease but families suffer as well – it tears you apart and somethings once broken can never be repaired.
I miss you both – yes Mum even the fights and disagreements – I can’t stop thinking – I want to tell Dad or I must ask Mum.
Never take the ones you love for granted – life is too short to harbour hurts and grudges. Remember the fun the good times and most importantly never forget how to love.
and please read the attached post —