Dear Mum, I will never forget

Dear mum,

I know you’ll never read this, and that’s okay.

But I wanted to remind you of the times we spent together.

All the days you picked me up from school with a bright smile and warm hugs, listening as I rambled on about the petty things little 6-year-olds find so amusing. You listened to every word. You laughed at my childish jokes that made no sense. You encouraged me to speak louder, be more confident, to believe in myself.

I won’t ever forget that.

I remember all the times you held my hand down the street, and how you patiently taught me how to cross the road safely. I remember every time you stroked my hair; every warm drink you placed in my hand when I was cold; every loving kiss to the forehead. I remember when you stayed home when I was sick, when you rang the ambulance…

I remember thinking you were going to be the last person I ever saw. And I didn’t mind.

For the months after I collapsed, you were there. When everyone I had once so confidently called my ‘friend’ stopped texting, you were there. When I was struggling with my health, my confidence, my will to live, you were there.

Your firm hand dragged me from the pits of hell.

And I won’t ever forget that.

But you did.

I remember the day the words were first spoken. Until then, there was always a silent promise to ignore its presence.

When you forgot what day It was.

When you forgot to do the washing.

When you forgot to call me.

We used to call every day without fail. So, I knew. I knew something was wrong.

And I took you to the doctors.

That’s when they said it. The word we refused to use, a reality we refused to acknowledge. The truth as it were… was to replace the ignorant bliss we were living in.

‘Dementia’

At first it didn’t seem like a big deal. A few old friends’ names or birthdays wasn’t going to be that difficult to live without. A few days without doing the washing wasn’t too bad. A few missed days with no recollection…

But I remember the day you forgot me.

You opened the door and smiled brightly at me – your usual bright smile … but different. There was no recognition in your eyes. You stared at me, waiting for me to speak. I could have been anyone: a postwoman, a police officer, a saleswoman. In that moment I was no longer your daughter, not the little girl who would jump into your arms, not the girl you raised and loved so dearly.

Because you didn’t recognise me; and it broke my heart.

I always knew the day would come, and I need you to know that I never hated you for it (no matter how upset and annoyed I was). I loved you; still love you.

But it was like looking into a one-way mirror.

I would love to say it got better…

You were so brave in your last few hours mum.

And your funeral was beautiful. The flowers were all purple, your smile decorated the hall, and your favourite music played softly in the background. People cried, people mourned, but mostly people remembered.

I know you’ll never read this, and that’s okay.

I just wanted to remind myself of all the reasons I love you more than the world.

Love,

Your daughter -who will never forget you and everything you done!