Another Year Older

Old age is something that happens to us all, it creeps up on us whether we choose to welcome it or not.

I’ve always believed you are only as old as you feel and that the second you choose to act your age is the moment you become officially old! This may be because I’m still terribly immature and often question who on earth trusted me with 3 precious children when despite my best efforts I still can’t quite keep a house plant alive!

This last weekend my beloved Mum celebrated her 82nd birthday in typical my Mum fashion; stubbornly arguing with the kids aghast at her candles betraying her true age, adamant that she was but 48 years young!

I think that’s the thing with Dementia and Alzheimer’s I’m coming to realise that in some ways the decline is harder on the family. That’s not to say my Mum doesn’t have days filled with frustration, confusion and anger. She does. But on the whole she is in a blissful bubble reliving the best moments of her life.

She had us all in tears as we listened to her birthday call to her sister as she happily told her she was just sat having her “Christmas dinner with Meg and Dad and the two grand kids.” Tears turned in to floods of laughter on finishing the call when we asked if she had enjoyed speaking to Amy. For her to dead pan say “oh I cannae really be bithered with her!”

Humour has became my coping mechanism on visits. Today one of Mum’s friends in there, another poorly soul, had not so sneakily stole a morsel of cake only for us to realise she was happily chewing on a rubber. On giving the lady a piece of cake to make up for the now physically dislodged eraser the old dear took one bite before deciding she preferred the rubber! Mum non the wiser said “Is that fine, the buggers wouldn’t let me have that!” I laughed so hard she threatened to bend me over her lap!! Luckily I was saved by a wee plastic birthday girl badge, she lit up upon receiving it, like it was the best present ever before proudly showing off her “beautiful brooch.”

As I watched her enjoy being surrounded by family and her face light up with that familiar sparkle of amusement, it dawned on me that whilst she may insist I’m her 79 year old sister. Whilst she may struggle to place who we all are and heartbreakingly still search for my Dad; she hasn’t forgotten the most important thing, that she is loved.

We can all be so guilty of  going through life desperate for the next new object or thing that’s going to make our homes that bit better. New cars, flashy holidays and being seen to be in the latest trendy clothes. She has none of that, yet she’s content. Because as we age those things are not what matter, they carry no worth.

Mum doesn’t speak much and struggles to follow conversations but as I desperately try to draw her out of the shell she’s in; it’s always the moments we forget to see in everyday life that draw a twinkle and a beaming smile.

As we age what we will be left with are the memories we have created. The family adventures, the laughter filled moments of love where no matter what the world throws at you it can’t touch you because you already have what’s important, each other. Memories of days cuddled up watching films. Building duvet dens. Climbing hills for the cake and cuppa at the top. Time spent together that money can’t buy.  The failures that become moments to laugh over our own  stupidity or as Mum puts it ‘I’m a daft bitch”.

It’s all too easy to become overwhelmed with the tough days that life inevitably throws our way. But my Mum is still quietly teaching me valuable life lessons.  In the past year she has shown me that those moments where we think we have messed up so badly and don’t see light at the end of the tunnel; they become the futures moments of accomplishment to look back on with pride at what we overcame.

As Mum blew out her candles I asked what her birthday wish was. She replied “to be here next year, to see the little darlings grow up and for Matt and you to be fine.”

I don’t think I will ever be ready to lose my Mum but my heart broke a little, in truth I don’t know if I’m strong enough to watch her deteriorate  further. She aches for my Dad and watching her decline is soul destroying. Yet despite all of this her love for us despite not knowing our names keeps her fighting. That’s the things isn’t it,  in the end it’s that warm feeling that’s so hard to articulate that keeps us all going and it is what is left. Love.