When Mum shines? She simply sparkles, like a little girl, and her delight is mine - then I smile & sometimes shed a single tear of joy. When she is not happy? I force a smile and try not to cry, yet all the while the little boy inside bawls and bawls - between the serried sobs and gasps he screams 'I WANT MY MUMMY', a tired refrain, 'I WANT MY MUMMY' - yes, I know she's here, but it's not the same if you have to hold the tears inside and she doesn't even know your name, 'I WANT MY MUMMY!' - yet, somehow, it is the same - it is the same voice that heeds me now that comforted that little lost Nero's grazed shins, here I am, Mummy, here to give back what you gave me, all those warm embraces in an uncertain world, here I am, we are the same, I see the same drop of The Divine peering out through older eyes, I have my Mummy. There's some sacred symmetry to this divine tragedy, I have my Mummy, I have my MUMMY! - I have come home.
On Sunday, in the torrential rain, Mum's friend Ruby and her mother came. Unscheduled visits are not always welcome. I had met Ruby briefly as a child, but otherwise did not know them, and was uncertain when Mum told me they were coming if it would be unsettling for her or a treat. Despite the monsoon and getting lost on some ill-advised and poorly planned adventure, it turned out to be a very welcome visit indeed, they had that reserved British demeanour and civil tempo she finds easiest to meet.
I listened to them chatting from my room. Through the door you hardly tell Mum was the wrong'un amongst the sane, it is nice when she just slips in and feels normal. Sometimes she can tell when people are treating her like a child, it serves as a constant reminder of her secret shame. They were drawing maps and telling her how to get to Hoddesdon on the bus, her former fondly remembered home. Of course, there is no way that Mum could manage this, but I left them to it. I could not blame them for assuming she was more able than she is, she was on form, but I did feel slightly insulted - I am here all the time, if it was possible for her to get on a bus on her own wouldn't I have shown her how by now? What do they think I am, her captor? I am being silly, that is not how people think.
I joined them at the end of the day, they were doing a jigsaw. Well, Mum and Ruby's mother were - Ruby looked disgruntled and grunted 'I don't like jigsaws', so I engaged her in conversation while the puzzle people sorted sky and straight edges from the grass and The Lion King's mane. I was quite embarrassed when they left - I had not seen anyone in days so all the words inside came out too fast, compounded by the fact they were neighbours and familiar with another of Mum's friends, a lodger who had been like a father to me and I had not seen since way back when.
Monday morning. The sun didn't come up, such was the rain. This was the bad day, the day the little boy inside had to cry 'I WANT MY MUMMY' in vain. The monsoon was still ensuing when Mum's German friend came. She took her to a craftshop, which I thought Mum would like, but Mum came back with nothing, and was shaking, shaken, breaking, broken - for the rest of the day.
What happened? I don't know, yet, I'll ask. German friend had to rush off and left me with this mess, I am not blaming her, she is lovely, but I would like to know what happened out there. Perhaps nothing happened, bad days will be bad.
How can I describe it? Jittery is what she was. Fractured. She was restless, moving from one thing to another - but sometimes this is okay, this was different. What am I trying to get at? I could be wrong but I think it was fear. She seemed like someone who had just had a traumatic experience, but it didn't go away. There was no way of getting back to a safe spot, every new place was contaminated by some looming fear with no name, even the sofa with telly and tea, even here something was wrong. Usually the idea seems to be to change the subject if things start to seem threatening to her, now I was trying to keep her on one subject, she was unsettled. I made an arrangement for her to visit Local-sister, hoping that a brisk walk in the cold would clear her head, but she was still a little wrong on her return. Perhaps it didn't help that I accidentally sent her out in mismatched shoes. I tried to get her to stay, but she wouldn't forget she was going, though she kept taking her woolies off and on which delayed things. I should have gone with her but I have a cold and it was freezing out there. Why didn't I go with her? I'm a bastard.
It had subsided, but there was still something wrong on her return. I made her tea and snuggled with her on the sofa, at last the little boy inside had his mummy. We watched Doctor Who and she was almost back to normal, but there was still a small cloud of unidentified frightening memory lurking at her shoulder when she went to bed.
In the morning she was my precious little girl again, all delighted smiles and dewdrops.
'I've got something to show you' she said.
I got up and went into the front room. It was a single muddy child's glove with rubber fingers that she had found whilst shopping, placed with pride amidst a gathering of small plastic animals. Yes, it's lovely.
Tuesday and Wednesday were lovely. Monday was just plain wrong. I looked at some pictures on the internet, 'this is your brain' & 'this is your brain with Alzheimer's'. Maybe another important bit of her brain had imploded, whipping another long trusted component of her psyche away from under her feet. Maybe it was because the sun never came up, maybe just she got out of the wrong side of the bed.
I remember a song I almost wrote. I should write it now, with Sarah (my ex) who admired its melody ten years ago. I should finish it with her, it meant nothing at the time, this is what it was for. How did it go? I think:
I listened to them chatting from my room. Through the door you hardly tell Mum was the wrong'un amongst the sane, it is nice when she just slips in and feels normal. Sometimes she can tell when people are treating her like a child, it serves as a constant reminder of her secret shame. They were drawing maps and telling her how to get to Hoddesdon on the bus, her former fondly remembered home. Of course, there is no way that Mum could manage this, but I left them to it. I could not blame them for assuming she was more able than she is, she was on form, but I did feel slightly insulted - I am here all the time, if it was possible for her to get on a bus on her own wouldn't I have shown her how by now? What do they think I am, her captor? I am being silly, that is not how people think.
I joined them at the end of the day, they were doing a jigsaw. Well, Mum and Ruby's mother were - Ruby looked disgruntled and grunted 'I don't like jigsaws', so I engaged her in conversation while the puzzle people sorted sky and straight edges from the grass and The Lion King's mane. I was quite embarrassed when they left - I had not seen anyone in days so all the words inside came out too fast, compounded by the fact they were neighbours and familiar with another of Mum's friends, a lodger who had been like a father to me and I had not seen since way back when.
Monday morning. The sun didn't come up, such was the rain. This was the bad day, the day the little boy inside had to cry 'I WANT MY MUMMY' in vain. The monsoon was still ensuing when Mum's German friend came. She took her to a craftshop, which I thought Mum would like, but Mum came back with nothing, and was shaking, shaken, breaking, broken - for the rest of the day.
What happened? I don't know, yet, I'll ask. German friend had to rush off and left me with this mess, I am not blaming her, she is lovely, but I would like to know what happened out there. Perhaps nothing happened, bad days will be bad.
How can I describe it? Jittery is what she was. Fractured. She was restless, moving from one thing to another - but sometimes this is okay, this was different. What am I trying to get at? I could be wrong but I think it was fear. She seemed like someone who had just had a traumatic experience, but it didn't go away. There was no way of getting back to a safe spot, every new place was contaminated by some looming fear with no name, even the sofa with telly and tea, even here something was wrong. Usually the idea seems to be to change the subject if things start to seem threatening to her, now I was trying to keep her on one subject, she was unsettled. I made an arrangement for her to visit Local-sister, hoping that a brisk walk in the cold would clear her head, but she was still a little wrong on her return. Perhaps it didn't help that I accidentally sent her out in mismatched shoes. I tried to get her to stay, but she wouldn't forget she was going, though she kept taking her woolies off and on which delayed things. I should have gone with her but I have a cold and it was freezing out there. Why didn't I go with her? I'm a bastard.
It had subsided, but there was still something wrong on her return. I made her tea and snuggled with her on the sofa, at last the little boy inside had his mummy. We watched Doctor Who and she was almost back to normal, but there was still a small cloud of unidentified frightening memory lurking at her shoulder when she went to bed.
In the morning she was my precious little girl again, all delighted smiles and dewdrops.
'I've got something to show you' she said.
I got up and went into the front room. It was a single muddy child's glove with rubber fingers that she had found whilst shopping, placed with pride amidst a gathering of small plastic animals. Yes, it's lovely.
Tuesday and Wednesday were lovely. Monday was just plain wrong. I looked at some pictures on the internet, 'this is your brain' & 'this is your brain with Alzheimer's'. Maybe another important bit of her brain had imploded, whipping another long trusted component of her psyche away from under her feet. Maybe it was because the sun never came up, maybe just she got out of the wrong side of the bed.
I remember a song I almost wrote. I should write it now, with Sarah (my ex) who admired its melody ten years ago. I should finish it with her, it meant nothing at the time, this is what it was for. How did it go? I think:
So wise and so pure, she opens the door
She's leaving so slowly she'll never disappear
So hold me, my dear, and I'll make it clear
I'm leaving so slowly I'll never disappear
x
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