Last week on BBC1 Louis Theroux did a programme looking at people living with a loved one who is suffering from Demensia. It is never an easy subject and for once Louis Theroux appeared to be out of his depth; he was touched by the great love and patience showed by some of the carers - especially those who had been married a long time and had managed to keep a very tentative hold on their partner.
When my mother was almost 80 years old and a very active and bright lady she was knocked off her feet by a young man on a racing bicycle and suffered head injuries which needed 22 stitches. The fellow picked up his bike and ran off leaving her lying in the road
where she was eventually found by a young 'hoodie' who called an ambulance and knelt holding her hand until help came. The injuries quickly healed but shock hit her badly and she spiralled downhill into demensia. Clever doctors told us the accident had nothing to do with her rapid descent into demensia but we know differently!
My three sisters and I found it very hard to bear and dealt with it in our own different ways.
My eldest sister, the one most like our mum, totally lost patience, she visited, and looked after mum's mail and finances but as far as I know never actually spoke to her again.
Sister number 2 simply ignored the whole scenerio and carried on a 'pretend' life with our mother denying that mum had actually 'gone away' and did not know who she was.
Sister number 3 was 'Sister Practical' - she washed all mum's clothing, her person, her hair and her nails and cooked treats for her.
I was the youngest daughter by quite a number of years and did nothing of any good.
Mum decided that I was her sister (who had taken her own life when young) and would grip my hands and talk for the whole of the visit about life when they were young, their Irish relatives and the German bombers who came every night and just missed her. Strangely; although she did not recognise any of us as her children she always ran to me recognising me immediately as 'her sister' and there fore imprisoning me for the next hour or so.
She was like this for 12 years and eventually had to go into a Care Home. She knew nothing, could not read, write or tell the time, dress herself or even feed herself.
One skill she did not forget was that she could sing, she always had a wonderful voice
and at the very end of her long life it was the only recognisable thing left of our mother.
She loved the days when the local Vicar came into the home - he would give them all a Blessing and then sit at the piano and play songs and hymns for the next hour or so.
He told us that he had never found anything that our mum did not know and she would sing every word, head thrown back and smiling broadly.
No wonder Louis Theroux was a bit thrown by the behaviour of some of the people he met, my sisters and I are still sad at what happened to our mother but we always tried to cheer each other by saying that SHE did not know what SHE was like so it seemed not to hurt her - but it almost broke our hearts.
