| General Non-Fiction posted January 7, 2018 |
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A slice of life
The Life That Was
by Heather Knight
When my father died aged sixty-three, my mum was heartbroken. My sister and I did our best to help her through that difficult patch.
We suggested university courses as she had been really a good student when she was at school. In fact, she used to help me with difficult stuff when I was in high school. I was never into maths and she managed to make me understand square roots which for me were, and still are, a big deal.
However, she rejected every suggestion we made. On top of the emotional toll of losing a lifelong partner, her financial situation worsened. She still had enough to live on, but couldn't afford the luxuries she had indulged in when my dad was alive.
Back then, she was only sixty-five and looked and acted a lot younger. She was trim, wore lovely clothes and took great care of her appearance. She was also an active, independent woman. But when my dad died, she changed.
I went out with her every Saturday. We did some shopping and then had a light dinner. I have to confess I selfishly resented her sometimes. After all, we all prefer being around happy people.
The years went by and she kept on mourning my dad. Her sadness did not abate one bit. She was treated for depression, but the pills didn't help.
And then my sister and I started noticing weird little things. She was becoming forgetful. At first, it was just unimportant details, but it got worse over time.
The worst part was hearing her say, all of a sudden, that my father had been a horrible man. That's when we knew something was seriously wrong.
The visits to the neurologist started. They made me feel helpless, as doctors know so little about the mind. They just told me she had Alzheimer's or dementia, but didn't offer a solution or an explanation. They just couldn't.
The day came when my sister and I realized Mum couldn't live alone any more. She fell several times, she spent all her money two days after getting her pension...
So my sister decided she had to live in a home. I agreed with her, but it took me some time to take the first step. And then one day, when I got home from work, my husband told me my mum was in a nursing home one hundred and fifty kilometers from Madrid where I live. My sister had made the decision for me, but I'll never understand why she took her so far away.
This was three years ago. At first, my mum was terribly upset, but then she fell in love. She was happier than I had ever seen her. Just like a little girl. Unfortunately, a few months ago her boyfriend died and even though she doesn't remember him, she acts differently.
I talk to her on the phone every day and visit her every other Sunday. What breaks my heart is the fact that she now believes her mother is alive. She asks me how she's doing every day. Or she tells me she has just talked to her.
On a more positive note, she's well taken care of and she still recognizes us. I'm sorry if this is a very gloomy topic, but I needed to get if off my chest.
You have to understand this is an oversimplification. I have condensed almost twenty years in a few paragraphs and that means a lot of feelings, details... got lost in the telling. Just saying.
When my father died aged sixty-three, my mum was heartbroken. My sister and I did our best to help her through that difficult patch.
We suggested university courses as she had been really a good student when she was at school. In fact, she used to help me with difficult stuff when I was in high school. I was never into maths and she managed to make me understand square roots which for me were, and still are, a big deal.
However, she rejected every suggestion we made. On top of the emotional toll of losing a lifelong partner, her financial situation worsened. She still had enough to live on, but couldn't afford the luxuries she had indulged in when my dad was alive.
Back then, she was only sixty-five and looked and acted a lot younger. She was trim, wore lovely clothes and took great care of her appearance. She was also an active, independent woman. But when my dad died, she changed.
I went out with her every Saturday. We did some shopping and then had a light dinner. I have to confess I selfishly resented her sometimes. After all, we all prefer being around happy people.
The years went by and she kept on mourning my dad. Her sadness did not abate one bit. She was treated for depression, but the pills didn't help.
And then my sister and I started noticing weird little things. She was becoming forgetful. At first, it was just unimportant details, but it got worse over time.
The worst part was hearing her say, all of a sudden, that my father had been a horrible man. That's when we knew something was seriously wrong.
The visits to the neurologist started. They made me feel helpless, as doctors know so little about the mind. They just told me she had Alzheimer's or dementia, but didn't offer a solution or an explanation. They just couldn't.
The day came when my sister and I realized Mum couldn't live alone any more. She fell several times, she spent all her money two days after getting her pension...
So my sister decided she had to live in a home. I agreed with her, but it took me some time to take the first step. And then one day, when I got home from work, my husband told me my mum was in a nursing home one hundred and fifty kilometers from Madrid where I live. My sister had made the decision for me, but I'll never understand why she took her so far away.
This was three years ago. At first, my mum was terribly upset, but then she fell in love. She was happier than I had ever seen her. Just like a little girl. Unfortunately, a few months ago her boyfriend died and even though she doesn't remember him, she acts differently.
I talk to her on the phone every day and visit her every other Sunday. What breaks my heart is the fact that she now believes her mother is alive. She asks me how she's doing every day. Or she tells me she has just talked to her.
On a more positive note, she's well taken care of and she still recognizes us. I'm sorry if this is a very gloomy topic, but I needed to get if off my chest.
You have to understand this is an oversimplification. I have condensed almost twenty years in a few paragraphs and that means a lot of feelings, details... got lost in the telling. Just saying.
We suggested university courses as she had been really a good student when she was at school. In fact, she used to help me with difficult stuff when I was in high school. I was never into maths and she managed to make me understand square roots which for me were, and still are, a big deal.
However, she rejected every suggestion we made. On top of the emotional toll of losing a lifelong partner, her financial situation worsened. She still had enough to live on, but couldn't afford the luxuries she had indulged in when my dad was alive.
Back then, she was only sixty-five and looked and acted a lot younger. She was trim, wore lovely clothes and took great care of her appearance. She was also an active, independent woman. But when my dad died, she changed.
I went out with her every Saturday. We did some shopping and then had a light dinner. I have to confess I selfishly resented her sometimes. After all, we all prefer being around happy people.
The years went by and she kept on mourning my dad. Her sadness did not abate one bit. She was treated for depression, but the pills didn't help.
And then my sister and I started noticing weird little things. She was becoming forgetful. At first, it was just unimportant details, but it got worse over time.
The worst part was hearing her say, all of a sudden, that my father had been a horrible man. That's when we knew something was seriously wrong.
The visits to the neurologist started. They made me feel helpless, as doctors know so little about the mind. They just told me she had Alzheimer's or dementia, but didn't offer a solution or an explanation. They just couldn't.
The day came when my sister and I realized Mum couldn't live alone any more. She fell several times, she spent all her money two days after getting her pension...
So my sister decided she had to live in a home. I agreed with her, but it took me some time to take the first step. And then one day, when I got home from work, my husband told me my mum was in a nursing home one hundred and fifty kilometers from Madrid where I live. My sister had made the decision for me, but I'll never understand why she took her so far away.
This was three years ago. At first, my mum was terribly upset, but then she fell in love. She was happier than I had ever seen her. Just like a little girl. Unfortunately, a few months ago her boyfriend died and even though she doesn't remember him, she acts differently.
I talk to her on the phone every day and visit her every other Sunday. What breaks my heart is the fact that she now believes her mother is alive. She asks me how she's doing every day. Or she tells me she has just talked to her.
On a more positive note, she's well taken care of and she still recognizes us. I'm sorry if this is a very gloomy topic, but I needed to get if off my chest.
You have to understand this is an oversimplification. I have condensed almost twenty years in a few paragraphs and that means a lot of feelings, details... got lost in the telling. Just saying.
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