How Long Is A Piece Of String?

I survived mothers' day with out any major bad jujus, despite nearly destroying my liver in the process of shutting out the reality. What it must be like for mum, I dunno. It might just be a series of fleeting impulses that have little power to distress her or agitate her. It might also be frustrating, if there is anything left of her knocking about the cavernous regions of her brain. I keep wondering at some of the things she has said to me, things that tell me something I want to cling to but which upsets me severely, that she is conscious of her situation and that she knows that she isn't at home anymore and that she grasps the fact that she has a problem with her memory. If there is that consciousness, I feel awful and glad. It's wonderful to still cling on to the hope that there is something of the old, ferocious ALIVE woman still there, albeit in a muted state and wearing less colourful clothing. It's horrible for me to imagine, and I do imagine, that she is alone, alone in her mind and and lonely in her heart. What could I have done different, apart from treat her with more sympathy prior to the diagnoses of Alzheimer's Disease and Vascular Dementia. Why did it take a doctor's confirmation of a condition to make me lose all of those frustrations at repeating something, well, repeatedly. Suddenly it was no longer an annoyance, and all I felt was sadness and great sympathy.

Now, in care and in mind, my mum and I are estranged. Where there used to be just the two of us getting along in our intimate way that was just between us, now there are strangers between us and beside us and within us, I guess.

I'll never convince people how terrible this whole business is, how painful and heart-breaking it is to know that I'll never make her laugh again, or she'll never tell me in her sweet way that I need a shave, that I'll never speak to her on the telephone. These little fragments that compose a life and a relationship between and mother and son reveal themselves without warning and suddenly there is a searing pain in my heart, at the reminder again of the tragedy and the loss and...selfishly, the comfort of having mum around to sort me out and put me right. It's cruel.

I have struggled with depression and I had depression whilst my parents were around, so I don't wish to paint a picture that I was happy then. I was happy for long stretches and I had a happy childhood, albeit laced with fear and terror in equal measure at school and realising that the girls all seemed to dislike me and that the boys were only friendly if I had a snooker table or something. I'm exaggerating, of course, but the feeling is real enough. I miss mum and dad terribly and I know I am too attached to them which means the loss is felt more keenly. The difficult thing for you, if you care, is that right now, I can see me taking my own life after mum passes away and that gives me a sense of peace. Sorry if that reads wrongly, or makes you uncomfortable but I have no intent to remain alive for other peoples' sakes, if I'm not happy. I may well not, but it's a long-standing thought and one that will not leave. I know that this reads badly, and that it's a sign of an unwell, unbalanced mind but this is the way it is. I get my peace from where I get it, you get yours from where you get it.

Anyway, I want toast.

Mother

Thank you mum, for washing my clothes
For tucking me in and wiping my nose
For salads, cakes and meals that I loved
You gave more to me than anyone else could

Thank you mum, for making me laugh
For driving me about and holding my hand
For making me toys from Blue Peter like moog
You gave me more than anyone else could

Thank you mum, for years of love
For being around and being my foundation
For taking the fear out of every situation
You gave me more than anyone else could

Thank you mum, these tears that I shed
Tell me you're there in my heart and being
Tell me I did all that I could do to protect you
For you gave me more than anyone else could

I love you, mum

James xxx