Monday, 4 May 2015


Although the sun is shining for the first time this May, after the copious amounts of rain that has deluged from the leaden grey sky, I am finding it difficult to feel lighthearted and to enjoy the signs of Spring around me, such as the vibrant pink buds of apple blossom on the Crab-Apple in the garden. 

Life has been very stressful of late. I thought that the end of the renovations at La Petite Maison would see an end to the stress. That was wishful thinking on my part, and the stress of life has just continued to build up.   

Throughout it all, I have battled on with a smile and tried to focus on the positive, trying hard not to let it get to me and keeping the tears locked securely away. The anti-anxiety tablets that the Doctor cunningly prescribed for me under the guise of anti-histamines have helped, (although deadening my brain as well as my angst, until I feel like I am operating in slow motion); as has my correspondence with a lovely friend in Columbia.

But yesterday, unexpectedly something happened that unlocked the tears and they fell silently down my face, as all the repressed emotions they contained were unleashed.

Sorting through a box of old cards and letters, I found a little white card with a black and white sketch of a cat that I had forgotten about. 

Opening the card I saw for the first time in a very long while, the neat flowing hand-writing of my Mum's, that mirrored the person she once was. 

That hand-writing has gone, along with her many other artistic talents and abilities. Her ability to remember even the basic every day aspects of life has vanished, even to the point of struggling to know the rhythm of breathing; eroded and swept away in the tide of the cruel Alzheimer's Disease.

It was not just the hand-writing that brought on the tears - it was the words. 

Her self-lessness and love for my Dad prompting her to naturally include his name on the card she has written.

My Mum is not the person that I once knew, but her sweet nature remains and when I saw her today and as I held her hand and asked her how she was feeling, she paused in the humourless laughter - constantly present now at even the most inappropriate occasions and replied brightly "I'm all the better for seeing you!" 

Well, do you know - Ditto, I am all the better for seeing My Mum! 

She may not be the same slim, neat lady that she was and she may have been robbed of her talents, knowledge and memories; but regardless of that, she is all that is left of the person I called my Mum, and I will appreciate every bit of her that is left before it too is washed away by the tides of time.