I was having coffee with my lovely stepdad - who is in his third year of vascular dementia - and he told me he had an appointment with Dorothy Perkins. There was a Dorothy Perkins store opposite us, so it was easy to see what had triggered his thought. I hope you have a lovely time, I replied. I told him about the upcoming Alba programme, there are still some doctors who don't believe we are really ill, I said. Bastards, he replied, in his inimitable - emphatic but polite - Scandinavian way. And then he looked lost, totally lost, I could have cried.
4 comments:
May I offer a virtual hug, that's the only fitting response I feel I can give. x
When I used to chat with my Dad (or dear mum-in-law) I used feel as if I was talking over some strange phoneline: we were having a conversation face-to-face but he was actually talking to me sitting at a table far far away and gazing at a magnificent view
So sad.
Thanks, all. The Dorothy comment was actually a moment of beauty - it made my mother and I smile - you could see his old self, the kind of jokes he used to make. But his old self is slipping away and it is unbearably sad. He seems okayish for pockets of time, but he is becoming increasingly stubborn (VERY!) and impatient, and also inventing memories, of places he has been and people he has met. Am so glad I volunteered for Alzheimer's Scotland in mid-late nineties, has helped me understand a lot of what he is going through. V. tough for my mum, of course.
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