Loosing me, Loosing Mum
I’ve not written on here for a long time. I’ve been perimenopausal and teaching, the two don’t leave much energy or time for headspace. Loosing my sanity, my confidence and my body shape with the loss of hormones has been a rollercoaster ride. A new roller coaster ride at the grand age of half a century.
Most recently I’m loosing my Mum to dementia. She’s great, happy, entertaining, elaborating to strangers stories of her life, including gifts of crocheted flowers and her version of dancing. We recently had the wonderful experience of being in A & E on a Friday night. Another elderly lady was there, living independently, she was putting up a fight to prevent being poisoned or locked in the visitors room. Mum was just telling everyone she was still alive, usually out dancing and would they like a crocheted flower in various shades of ‘Pink to make the boys wink’. It was a good grounding, reassuring to know that while her Osteoarthritis was bad in her hip, I learned she had no broken bones, she was allergic to Codeine and that despite needing patience, she was upbeat and she made a decision that she didn’t want her ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ notice to continue. She had made it when her husband was unwell with his Parkinson’s Disease and he had one.
It’s a relief yesterday that social services are going to do a reassessment and we met with a care company who can provide some home help before the direct payments arrive. I am now waking at 5am with the panic, that we might be unable to pay for it as Mum, having this recent diagnosis needs car insurance. She’s just paid for a full service on her car and I’m waiting for Attendance Allowance. I’m out of pocket, struggling to keep myself in budget after paying for registering two Lasting Power of Attorney’s, vitamin supplements, new sketchers (that the kids had delivered to her: she tells me when I suggest a cheaper pair in the local shops), her car insurance paid for on my credit card and she repays in cash….
And then the guilt trips in. This is my Mum, who taught me to use a spoon. Who I don’t ever remember shouting at me, even when I set the carpet alight, put sprouts down the back of the radiator or peed the bed almost every night until I was 10. Mum who made me a nurses fancy dress outfit, who fed me and my kids, who gave me a safe place to go to when my marriage was failing, who hugs me and gets teary now when she says goodbye. Mum, who was left in an orphanage age 3, back in 1948, rescued by her grandma, collected by her mum, when she was old enough to babysit or to earn a wage. Mum, who divorced my alcoholic dad in the early 80’s and carried on bringing up 3 kids in the well-to-do area of Knotty Ash, despite the neighbours disgust.
The sun has now risen and the panic ebbs away as yet again, my writing helps ease the stress. I listen to the sparrows as they noisily sing in the tree and flit between there and clinging onto the bricks of our wall outside the flat window. I’ve just tried to take photo’s of the sparrows but unfortunately my photography skills and ability to remember how to add photos are diminished, I’d normally blame the menopause (ha ha- and add a laughing emoji)
Hopefully I’ll be back very soon with renewed digital skills and a grasp of my WordPress password. We live in hope that my grammar needs less editing next time.
Take Care Readers