Those lucid moments

Elsie Horobin

It was while she was packing for a house move that she found the photograph. Small, square, black and white, it had been folded twice and now barely held together along the creases. She had always assumed that, at best, her Mum was indifferent about her. But this photograph of her in a pram had been found in her Mums pocket after her death.

It had been a startling moment to discover that all through senility her Mum had held on to this image of her daughter.

She could remember the beginning of the end so clearly...

It had been a long sleepless night; tossing and turning; the more she tried not to think about tomorrow the more the thoughts chased each other round in her head. She knew she must rest for she had a long drive ahead of her. Oblivion finally came in the early hours of the morning.

The journey to Aberdeen seemed both too short and too long, as she was torn with guilt at not already being there, and yet dreading arrival and the problems she knew shed find there.

Arriving at her folks home she took a deep breath, shouting hello as she went through the front door. Only Rusty, the dog, bothered to come and meet her. Dear old Rusty, over-fed and waddling, tail wagging furiously. She really was the ugliest dog imaginable, but with such a loving nature. Her brother, Pete, and her father were both in the living room. Pete pacing back and forth and her Dad sitting in his chair by the window. Dad was dressed in his Sunday clothes, giving weight to the occasion. The air in the room was full of things unsaid, and emotions held in. No change there then! They were such a typical Scottish country family, virtually Calvinistic in the repression of emotion. The only lively exchange of views was likely to be about the weather!

Pete had already been on the phone to her last night when he couldnt get Mum to pack her case properly. Shed had to stifle a mixture of a laugh laced heavily with impatience. For goodness sake Mum has senile dementia, does it really matter if shes packing boxes of cereal into her case? The solution was easy, or was it only easy at a distance? Let Mum pack whatever she likes, and when shes not looking pack another case for her. Of course what Pete really wanted was for her to have been there. Hed been in denial ever since Mums dementia had been diagnosed. Mother and son had had a close relationship and it was particularly difficult for Pete to accept that his Mum was literally losing her mind. When he could no longer ignore the fact he took up hill-walking and was away for days at a time. She wondered if hed yet found the courage to admit the reality of not only his Mums situation, but todays move which would affect them all in different ways. Dads view was straightforward, he had simply decided that Isobel was acting that way to annoy him personally.

Isobel had long been accepted as slightly eccentric. She cared so little for her appearance that she practically looked like a bag lady, wearing so many layers of mismatched clothes. The one aspect that bothered her was having lost most of her hair, so shed bought a wig many years ago. Inevitably she didnt look after it properly and it certainly didnt look as if someone could have chosen to wear it, especially after it had blown off into a puddle, been dried under the grill, and acquired a scorched frizzy look.

Obviously Isobels packing saga had been going on for hours, she was still wandering from room to room picking up things for her case. Sometimes she held on to the intention long enough for an item to reach the bag, mostly things were just picked up and put down somewhere else.

It was hard to imagine what it might be like inside a mind that no longer functioned in the way we all expect. What must it be like? Possibly an empty, desolate landscape, or perhaps one in which people, things and places had been jumbled up until they made no sense to the owner. If that was the case then it was little wonder that those lucid moments were so hard to cope with.

I dont want to go on holiday, Ive never liked hotels, complains Isobel. Everyone reassures her, tells her how lovely this one is. Well they never give me the food I like, retorts Isobel, as she goes off on another foray into the kitchen. What will it be this time? A packet of fish fingers or a loaf of bread? No, on this occasion its a jar of jam.

Theres a knock at the door; a welcome interruption. Its the neighbour from across the road. Mum has laid out all the dog food on their garden wall. Everyone on the street knows that Mum is being taken to a nursing home today. Theyve been good neighbours; keeping an eye on her, probably for longer than we were aware. The sight of the dog food lined up like that is both funny and sad at the same time. Thats the worst of it you see, those lucid moments. At some point Isobel had understood what was happening and had remembered that her beloved Rusty was to go to a new home. It only added to the sadness that shed got the wrong garden wall.

OK Mum, let me fasten your coat properly and straighten your wig. She tried to be patient, but knew if she was the one wearing that wig, it would be spinning by now!

Were going now.

Yes, all of us.

No, its a really fine hotel, youll like it there.

Such are the lies we tell to ease our guilt.