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“MY MUM DOESN’T
REMEMBER WHO I AM”
It was Mother’s Day
2004 when I finally
plucked up the courage
to ask Dad about Mum’s
increasing forgetfulness.
Over the past few years, Mum had
reached the stage where she’d stopped
driving, wouldn’t go to church, stopped
cooking and would forget who wanted
which cup of tea. So when she left the
room I asked Dad quietly, ‘Does Mum
have Alzheimer’s?’ He looked at me and
simply said, ‘Yes’.
Mum was 75, but what I didn’t know,
and didn’t find out until much later, was
that she’d been diagnosed with
Alzheimer’s five years before that. Mum
had an aunt who’d had the disease and
when she saw the signs in herself she
went to the doctor right away. However,
she’s an incredibly private person and
had asked Dad not to tell us. But when
I finally confronted him he couldn’t lie.
My relationship with
Mum was always good. I’m
the youngest of five, and
we grew up in the
countryside, a big happy
family. Mum was a role
model to me, hardworking,
independent and funny.
I could tell her anything.
As this previously
ultra-capable woman had
begun to change, my
brothers, sisters and I would
joke about her ‘getting old’. Looking back
though, I think we all feared that
something was really wrong. Mum had
always been a fantastic baker but at
Christmas in 2003, Dad said that she’d
tried three times to make a Christmas
cake, couldn’t do it and never did it
again. A few months later, at my
brother’s 40th birthday party, my mum,
who was sitting next to me, looked over
at her daughter-in-law of 12 years and
asked me quietly, ‘Who is that?’
I felt a flash of shock, then spent a
moment trying to rationalise it. Perhaps
she can’t see her properly? But I knew
that Mum really didn’t recognise her.
I replied to Mum with a slight laugh,
trying to make light of it, that it was
Sharon. She laughed a little and said, ‘Of
course’. I felt such a wave of protection
Helen Bester, 40, from Cambridge, explains what it’s like to
have a mother suffering from Alzheimer’s disease
HELEN BESTER WITH
HER MUM, PAM,
LAST CHRISTMAS
towards
Mum at that
moment, I
just wanted
to shield her from any embarrassment.
Soon afterwards Dad confirmed my
suspicions, but had no idea what lay
ahead. It was only when I mentioned it
to a friend, who is a nurse, and she said,
‘Oh that’s terrible,’ that I started to
acknowledge that it was going to be
very, very hard.
Things started to get really bad a year
later. My parents moved from Norfolk to
the village next to me because Mum was
deteriorating, and Dad needed our help
to care for her. I soon realised Mum was
much worse than I’d thought. I was
staying over one night when she tried to
make a cup of tea on the hob and
started a small fire. She had trouble
sleeping, and I would often open my
eyes in bed to see her standing over me.
I’d jump out of my skin, but in the dark
she didn’t know who I was. She also
THERE ARE 820,000 PEOPLE
LIVING WITH DEMENTIA IN THE
UK, HELEN BESTER’S MUM IS
ONE OF THEM
started to wander around, leaving the
house, looking for her old home. We
soon realised that if you have
Alzheimer’s, the longer you can live
with familiarity, the better.
To have the roles of mother and
daughter switch was incredibly difficult.
This was my fiercely intelligent mum, and
all I could do was watch her slip away.
“She had trouble sleeping,
and I would often open
my eyes in bed to see her
standing over me”
The hardest thing was not being able
to help her. At first I read and Googled
everything. But there was nothing
I could do to stop the progress of the
disease. She was so scared of what was
happening to her and for her children,
left to deal with the situation. But she
would never discuss her fears, not once.
She was being strong for us.
REA L LIFE
Watching my dad deal with it has
been heartbreaking. They grew up
together as neighbours and have known
each other for 70 years and been
married for 56. He remembers her
as a young woman, he knows all her
hopes and dreams. Now she doesn’t
even know who he is. Before Mum got ill
I’d seen him cry once… in the past few
years I’ve lost count.
The worst moment had to be the first
time Mum didn’t recognise me. We were
at a funeral of a family friend in July
2005 and Mum was in unfamiliar
surroundings. We were sitting in a pew
waiting for it to start when she looked at
me and said, ‘When is Helen getting
here?’ I bit back the tears and quickly
replied, ‘I am Helen.’ She said, ‘Please
don’t tell anybody.’ The initial sadness
was quickly followed by acceptance.
There was an inevitability that this day
would come, and suddenly it was here.
Last summer Mum had a stroke and it
was clear that living with Dad was
becoming impossible. Being a 24-hour
carer was going to kill him and she didn’t
know where she was any more. But she
seems content at the home we chose
for her, even though we are all filled with
guilt. We kept Dad busy and made sure
he wasn’t on his own but the woman he’s
shared a bed with for 56 years is gone
and is now living with strangers.
Having a parent with Alzheimer’s is
like grieving for the living. Last week we
were going through some of her things,
it was as if she’d died. We looked at
photos she’d kept, the old exercise
books filled with her notes of how much
we weighed when we were born, when
we first walked.
This Mother’s Day I had to remind her
that her mother had died 19 years ago.
She was so upset and thought no one
had told her. Alzheimer’s is cruel; it’s
stripped her of her abilities, her
memories. What is there left to take?
When I look at her now I see glimpses
of how Mum used to be, especially when
she laughs. But the person who brought
me up, my wonderful Mum, has gone.”
For information and support contact
Alzheimer’s Research Trust at
alzheimers-research.org.uk
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