Covid Lockdown. I’ve not been for three months. She must wonder where her friends have gone. What’s app video conversations have been intermittent and unsatisfactory. But I’m looking at it from my perspective, maybe she loved to see my face on the small screen, I certainly had the thumbs up even when there was no speech left.
At last, I can visit in the garden. As I walk in front of the windows up goes the thumb, only one now. How wonderful.
The combination of her deterioration and the Covid lockdown has not been good so I’m overjoyed with whatever recognition there is. There are stories everywhere of family’s unable to be close to their loved ones in life and death. All heartbreaking.
Dementia is cruel and insidious. Maybe two years ago there were early signs, slightly odd comments but we laughed them off. Then it was all too obvious but we kept on with life as much as possible. Even last September a holiday at their house in France. Old haunts were reassuring, maybe for her but helpful for us.
The trips out in the autumn to pubs for lunch. A finger pointing at her watch when the hour was twelve – they were serving food. Signs language told me, if not the waitress, fish, no batter, chips and mushypeas. Maybe room for apple pie and custard. Some establishments were more understanding and accomodating than others. I’ll patronise those again when the pain is over.
But now a bare six months later there is only a glimer of recognition, a stare and possibly an attempt at a thumbs up. And now a stare
I talk and gesture almost a dementia in myself, thats all I have. A stare
I dread tomorrow, if she is not in the familiar chair.