The call this morning came as a shock.
Mum sounded more together than she has in a long time.
I’d been to the doctor with her on Monday and we are in the process of sorting out her home care.
She sounded strong and controlled and told me not to worry but Dad had gone missing.
My mind changed gear with a clunk as a sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mum, Dad passed away two years ago”
“Can you hear me son? I’ve been out searching for him. I’ve been to the park and the shop., I can’t find him anywhere”
I wiped away the tear and talked. Quietly, going along with her story, letting her talk.
Gill came into the room, she’d slept on the couch downstairs after an evening out. She said the police were downstairs.
I walked behind her talking to Mum and tried to smile at the uniformed woman in my living room.
Ending the call was hard but I assured her we would be with her soon.
The police officer told us they had put out an “all points’ for a 90 year old but the officers had figured things out pretty quickly after looking round the house: single bed, no man’s clothing.
Now it’s a matter for Social Services.
Recently we’ve taken over her finances, her medication, her shopping…
The hardest part of dementia is the loss. She’s losing everything she had, which started with Dad, two years ago.
I’m losing the tower of strength who raised me and my brothers while caring for an invalid husband.
The kids are losing Nana.
Her Mum was the same at this age.
She would flick back to when Mum was a kid and wonder who the nice young lady making her tea was.
It’s so hard.
