Yesterday I spoke about the flying visit my son made to Yorkshire. On Sunday night he drove to Cheshire so that he could see his other grandmother. He dreaded this visit and I put no pressure on him. He had not seen her for four years and that is a very long time in Alzheimer years!
My son was torn between remembering his feisty, intelligent, proud grandmother and the little old lady, so different, that she had become. But he wanted to understand what I do to support her and see her new home. A brave decision because he could just as easily have kept the memory of her healthy and well. His visit would have minimal impact on my mother but a huge impact on him.
However, the decision was made and we arrived at the care home in silence. I desperately wanted to tell him to change his mind and keep hold of his memories. I was also trying to find words that would prepare him for the effects this awful debilitating disease had inflicted on his grandmother. He did have some idea but, to protect my mother’s dignity, I spare my children a lot of the detail as it serves no useful purpose!
But, as with most mothers, the protective instinct is still very strong no matter the age of the child! My son, like my daughter, is significantly mentally and physically stronger than I give him credit for, as I was soon to discover.
My mother didn’t recognise her grandchild. She reached out, stroked his cheek and told him that he had a very nice face. I didn’t want to stand talking in the corridor so we went to her room. To try and make this a ‘home from home’ I had framed a number of my fathers prints (he was a well-known wild life artist in South Africa) and, together with family photographs, they adorned her walls. Her room is pretty, she looked physically fit and well and had just had her hair done, so her mental decline was not immediately evident. The care home manger and her assistant soon joined us and my son spoke to them both, yet kept reminding his grandmother of people and places they had met or visited in South Africa.
I was called out to move my car and when I returned the assistant manager was very excited. He told me that, albeit very briefly, my mother had looked across at my son, eyes alight with recognition and told him that she hadn’t seen him for a very long time.
We left the care home, my son happy that he had seen his grandmother and she hadn’t been as ‘bad’ as he had expected. He had met the manager and her assistant and had been very impressed with both of them. He liked the care home, thought it was significantly better than he had imagined and could now understand a little of what I have to deal with.
So, as with a lot of my fears, once more this one was ill-founded. My son coped admirably and my mother had a rare moment of sheer delight recognising her grandson.
My son flies home to his family in the States today. My friend and I will be back at the care home this morning giving the residents exercises to ‘Abba’ . Life goes on but enriched by my son’s visit and looking forward to seeing my daughter in a few week’s time.
None of these visits would be possible if I hadn’t ‘retired’. This brave new world is not without its challenges, but I am discovering a significant amount of benefits too! The choices are mine and I am embracing them more every day.👠
Jenny Burrell 