Yesterday afternoon I visited my mother in her care home. She is five years down the awful, debilitating Alzheimer’s road of no return. I have gone through the many stages that families with loved ones battling this evil disease have gone before. The loss, unfairness, panic and despair that hit me with the diagnosis still haunts me. The caring for, huge concern and final decision to put Mum in a care home came with significant guilt. I had to keep on balancing this guilt with knowing that Mum will be safe and well looked after, which was not the case in her own home. Her heartbreaking pleas to take her back home lasted over a year. Many times after leaving her I’d be in floods of tears and full of recriminations. Perhaps I should have tried to get more carers to keep her in her own home for longer? But this was proving very costly and I was holding down a full time job with minimal assistance. My overriding concern for her safety and a psychological assessment left me with little choice. My sister, daughter and I researched and visited a number of care homes. Seeing the different stages of the disease made these visits, with their security gates and secure little gardens, even more heart-wrenching.
But my daughter and I did finally walk into a shabby, yet homely large old house and knew we had found Mum’s new home. It’s not perfect, nothing remotely connected to this awful disease could be, but, three years down the line Mum has gained weight, looks healthy and is keeping well. We have good and bad days. I visit a little old lady who looks like my mother. I ensure she is being well looked after and still take her to our favourite tea room once a week. We sing along to Elvis in the car and she still recognises me. I leave Mum with a good feeling, because feelings have replaced her memories. I take each day as it comes. Mum has a good quality of life and seems happy most of the time. We are where we are. We can’t ask for more. 👠
