A World full of Hurricanes

You spoke to Mother in an uncivilised manner again. That, Harry, was uncalled-for. You forget yourself. You’ve been forgetting a lot of things though, haven’t you? You have changed and I don’t know how to get through to you anymore. Mother loves you, she is by your side now, and she will continue to be by your side until her life reaches its conclusion or until yours does. She will always be here for you because as I mentioned earlier, she loves you. I know that. She knows that but, do you? I hope so, we both do but sometimes it’s hard to see. Mother isn’t the woman she once was, recent events have exhausted her beyond recognition. I see it in her eyes. In a world full of hurricanes she desperately craves a rainbow. I hope she finds it, lord knows she needs it. I, for one know that she doesn’t care for a pot of gold. She has always favoured beauty over riches. 

I’ve heard so many stories recently, she loves to talk about the early years. The day you were born is one of her favourites. I don’t remember that day myself, I was too young, but she knows the story so well and shares it with pride. You were her second child but, there was no favouritism from her and I don’t recall any sibling rivalry, not much anyway. You never had many friends so childhood was tough and you were bullied, no, not just bullied you were traumatised. You were constantly living in fear back then but you endured. Mother of course never knew the dark side of your childhood, she was living in a fairy tale back then, and she thought that you were too. She loves to talk about your school-days though, your teens weren’t pleasant for her. She had taken in the realism of parenthood by that point and you didn’t go easy on her, no you didn’t, not one bit, but she would gladly go back to that than deal with the here and now. I’ve heard all the stories though, not just your childhood but your early adulthood too. Your first day at university, your graduation day, your wedding day, ah yes your wedding day, what a glorious day it truly was. The weather was flawless. That is just my opinion of course, some said it was too hot but I’ve always been a fan of the heat. I’d rather be hot than cold I’ve always said. Leanne looked stunning that day, if there was ever a perfect bride she was the one. You could have had your pick of any woman but you chose her, you chose wisely. You don’t think about her anymore but I do, I always will. 

Mother comes to see you every day, to tell you these stories not just to reminisce but to tell you in her own way that she believes in you and that she cares, it doesn’t make a difference to her that you don’t acknowledge her. It upsets her yes but it doesn’t stop her from trying to get through to you. You have her eyes but not her spirit, I have it, but not you, no. You used to have it and you had it in spades but lately you’ve been a shell of your former self and it hurts.  

Do you ever wonder how you became this way? No, I don’t think you do. I do though but you are the organ grinder here and my monkey business is never going to evolve. Oh, how I wish it would. I am sorry that things had to be like this and there is anger in my tone but my anger is not at you, I know this is out of your hands. My anger is at the situation that you are in, that we are in. I remember the man you used to be, you were so much stronger, so independent and that independence was stripped from you like an alligator snatches an unattended infant. It is such a cruel world we live in and my anger is justified believe you me. 

The more you lose the more I know and I hate that, it’s like a data transfer of sorts but I don’t like it here on the inside. It’s very lonely in here. You are the only one I can talk to and Mother always told me that talking to yourself is a sign of madness. This isn't madness though, this is side effects. You and I are one and the same. It’s the Dementia you see it’s eating away at your brain one step at a time and I’ve got the missing pieces. Mother never talks to you about it. She can't stand bringing it up, and she's in denial about it all, she is very old now, pushing Ninety Five. I don’t think she ever expected you to be diagnosed with anything serious, surely not Dementia at Such a young age. You're Fifty Seven, no spring chicken it may be true but that is still a relatively young age for a Dementia diagnosis, it’s not unheard-of, it happens but it wasn't expected. The less she thinks about it the better off she is. She doesn’t want you to die before her but odds are you will and that may even kill her. That was something you used to worry about but not now, you’ve forgotten and so now the worry lies with me. 

Why am I telling you all this? I don’t know and yet I do. I'm just a voice inside your head and I know you can't hear me anymore. Mother has a chance of getting through to you, a slim chance albeit but a chance nonetheless.

Not me though. I am you, I’m a part of you at least, the version of you that you used to be, the part you can’t access. So here I am talking and talking, just begging for someone to listen although I know nobody ever will. My words may be of little use but what else have I got? This is my existence now and I’ll regret it if I don’t say what I want to because even if these words are never heard, they may well be my last. The other thing is that as much as I know that there is no cure for dementia, I Still live in hope that we’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll know a little bit less and you’ll know a little bit more and that with each passing day your mind slowly rejuvenates until I fade away and on that day I will wake up as you again, the way you used to be when you were me. Oh, what I would give to do that just to see Mother smile again. If only she knew That I am still here, if only she knew that you are here too.