“Mum!”
Dot glanced up and smiled warmly at her son. His chubby face beamed back at her, loose hair flopping over one eye, making him look like a one-eyed pirate.
“Mum! Listen to me!”
“I am listening, sweetheart,” Dot laughed, her voice light. “I always listen to you.”
As she moved forward to hug him, Samuel, now thirteen, pulled away with the natural resistance of a teenage boy, his school blazer slightly askew and his shorts just a little too short. He looked so grown-up, yet still held a trace of that boyish charm.
“I wonder where your father is,” Dot sighed. “He’s always late these days.” She wandered into the kitchen absentmindedly, opening a cupboard. “Would you like something to eat now?”
Samuel followed her closely, gently taking her arm and guiding her back into the lounge. “Mum, Dad isn’t coming home.”
Dot froze, her heart skipping a beat as his words cut through the air. For a moment, she stared at her son, confusion clouding her mind. Then, like a sudden wave of realisation, it crashed over her, and she sank down into the nearest chair.
Gordon wasn’t coming home. He had died not too long ago. His heart, they said, had given out. She still struggled with the forgetfulness that sometimes shielded her from that truth, but the pain would always resurface with a force that took her breath away. She had lost track of how many nights she had cried herself to sleep, reaching for him in the dark, only to remember he was gone.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” came a man’s voice from the kitchen.
Startled, Dot looked up, her brow furrowed. A middle-aged man entered the room, his eyes filled with quiet concern. “Who are you?” she asked, searching the room for Samuel, her confusion deepening.
The man paused, his smile tinged with sadness. “It’s me, Mum. Samuel. Your son.”
Dot stared at him, blinking as she tried to push through the fog in her mind. The years slipped away from her grasp as she realised the little boy she’d seen moments before had long grown up. The pain of remembering clawed at her as she sat there, helpless against the cruelty of dementia, while Samuel stood before her, hating the disease that had taken her from him.
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While I was a good bit older than Sam, the description does fit five years of my life a while back. Dementia/Alzheimer’s is a terrible condition. The only saving grace (if there is one) is that the person with the affliction does not realize they have it.
I’ve actually only known one person with it thankfully. Not a family member. Very lucky I think.
Read this one several times and was still compelled to read it again…and feel the emotions all over again and cry for them.
Thank you! I am glad it works
I have not gone through this, but know someone that has. I also remember I think you talking about a neighbour of yours (some woman) having it. So complicated, and sad. I’m sure it is very difficult to see someone you respected and thought brilliant become so lost. It also demands that the person taking care of you be able to have that special compassion and understanding. I’m sad to say that I would not be good. I remember when my son was having his first communion, we had to go to practice how it would work and there was a woman there that asked me when we had to be there. I told her the next day at 2:00pm. A few minutes, later, she asked me the same thing. I told her again. But then she kept on asking me over and over and over and I’m sad to say, I was annoyed. It feels terrible to say, as I always thought of my self as being quite patient, but realized in this case, I had no patience at all. I would not be able to work with people with this disease, as they deserve better. Some should no longer be at home, and should be in care, as they too get frustrated and can scream and shout as they can’t figure out what’s going on. All and all a sad situation. Good story telling, Abbie. Maggie
I think admitting your annoyance is a good thing. Too many people try to pretend they are okay with it, but I don’t believe them. I think honest people actually are the ones who cope better than they think they will
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