SATURDAY 11th JUNE . . .
Saturday passed in a blur of work & household bits ’n’ bobs which had escaped being done during the week, but I arrived at the designated collection spot to collect Morecombe & Wise at 14:58 exactly – just to see them walking into the hotel. I tooted, Mum waved & came over, but Bob simply carried on into the hotel, presumably to collect his bag.
Mum greeted me warmly then told me how lovely it was to be spending time with Bob after their breakup. My eyebrow raised but I kept my poker face. ‘Oh?’ I gently enquired. Turns out in Mum’s world they’d broken up recently & she’d been staying with her parents, but now all was back on track & she’s looking forward to seeing me.
Oakey dokey . . .
Bob finally appeared around 15 minutes later chaperoned by a young schoolgirl in a hotel uniform who was carrying his bag – I guess they start ’em young these days, or I’m getting old & everyone under 30 looks like a young schoolgirl. Ouch.
His first words to me were that Mum needs a sit down & to be quiet. Ahhh.
I asked how the morning had gone. He said Mum had awoken in her blank state again – the same as Wednesday at ours – where not only did she not know who Bob was, but she was unsure of who she was too. This, I feel, has escalated matters – but I’m not sure if it’s a temporary blip due to the change of routine & location, or an indication of her declining – but time will tell of course.
Bob continues to tell me that Mum was very difficult & had no idea of where she was or what to do when she first got up – she’s in the car, listening remember – but eventually he says they made it to McDs for ‘breakfast’ around 11:00 then walked to the Embankment Hotel & sat & watched the world go by for a couple of hours, with beer. More than one. They had literally just returned when I tooted.
He also tells me that Mum was the same as she is now – let’s call it ‘away’ – on both afternoons they’d been out. In fact he confirmed that every single afternoon they’d been together Mum was ‘away’ in the afternoon – plus also somewhere else this very morning. Fact.
Mmm, what had they done every afternoon they’d been out I enquired? Oh, it appears they’d not had lunch but had visited pubs. Oh oh oh, thrice oh.
Right . . . ok, I’m desperately trying not to be too judgemental so I will stick with the facts: Bad afternoons every day; Mum awoke in a bad place today; Bob recognises this & knows she responds to food but they didn’t eat last night as they had a sandwich mid-afternoon yesterday so weren’t hungry & subsequently took her to McDs for breakfast this morning. Which was what by the way? Ah, a coffee & an apple pie. Right. Sugarville. Then they walked to bar & had beer in the sun. Ok. There is of course no mention of whether Bob has decided Mum needs a dose of Zoloft . . .
Nothing to see her officer.
However I note Mum has not been herself all day today – it’s now after 15:00 – & Bob doesn’t see any connection in their lifestyle or have any ‘solution’ (i.e. care) for this.
I keep all to myself – as the penny is starting to drop that nowt I say will remotely change Bob’s actions until he witnesses change or cannot cope with Mum’s behaviour. Clearly he believes he is coping.
Driving back home Mum asks Bob if they need anything, to which Bob replies ‘Beer!’
I tell him he’s drunk all ours, so do a U-turn to get to t’supermarket as we’re just around the corner from home, & head to the nearest for a Dewey Beer Run.
Well, you’ve never seen such a faff. Ever. After what seems like an eternity of mulling over every brew – twice – & questions about locations of breweries & taste profiles – he eventually selects Doom Bar ale for Mum & some Thatchers cider for him.
I bite. Gently though.
As cooly as I can, I suggest that as Mum has been suffering since they left ours, perhaps – just perhaps – an alcohol-free beer would be the best solution until she regains some reality? ‘Nope, definitely not – she doesn’t like it’ comes the reply. Now, this is a woman who cannot tell the difference between a tea or coffee, so I very much doubt that she doesn’t like it, & I take the opportunity to remind Bob that he has drunk the alcohol-free beer I had for Mum at home. Sigh.
He ignores me. He carries on with his deconstructed Snakebite purchase & shuffles around to get cheese & crackers too, as he’s ‘peckish’.
Eventually we get home & the first thing he does – the very first thing – is thrust me the beer & cider to put in the fridge. Sigh. I oblige, & in a flash Bob has a knife out & is sawing away at the block of cheese on the worktop & shooting cracker dust everywhere as he battles with a particularly difficult Jacobs Cream Crackers packet. Eventually he opens it just enough to extract an illusive cracker, plonks a chunk of cheese on it & takes a bite – ahhhh, he was desperate – & then makes more mess building cracker #02 for Mum – there, lunch is served! He then shuffles out of the kitchen, sinking into Bob’s Throne & turning on the TV.
I bite a little bit more now. I know I shouldn’t, but I did.
‘Bob!’ Have you heard of plates? Or chopping boards? Or even cleaning up! Look at this mess – come on, come & clean it up!’
I’m ignored. I can’t be arsed to fight with him, but I leave the crackers & cheese out, hoping the seasonal flies don’t ruin the flavour too much . . .
Bob is now firmly ensconced in front of the TV for the foreseeable, so I keep Mum occupied with some light chores to stop the constant ‘Can I help?’ questions & chat a bit in the garden before coming inside to sit in the lounge where, unusually, I instigate a chat with us all together. Eek.
I enquire, tentatively, that Mum seems to have suffered from her three days in pubs & wonder if Bob has noticed the changes? He hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t. I don’t push any more, as I understand only too well that The Most Important Thing of All whilst Mum is actually here is to enjoy some time together – so I simply ask Mum her view on everything that comes up in conversation to keep her involved; when she says she’s not very bright I lead her into being ‘ fearfully and wonderfully made’ & that God isn’t in the habit of making mistakes, & we spark up a really interesting conversation about religion vs God vs culture vs hearts vs head. Mum has views, has opinions & has much to offer, if she’s allowed to get a word in . . .
This is the first ‘serious’ conversation I’ve had with her for a very long time. It’s a breath of fresh air to see she still has something to offer, as recently she appears to simply be a lap dog to Bob’s whims – until she snaps & anger comes to the surface. In fact I’m seriously starting to think that when she gets angry & doesn’t recognise Bob that is actual reality & who she truly is, & that her codependency is her ‘away’ state. Eh? Think about that for a minute!
Back to my reality, I’m really heartened to see her involved in conversation which isn’t entirely centred around the classic ‘How well is your family?’ or ‘Are you well?’ or ‘What’s the weather doing?’ Absolute music to my ears.
Mum & I make dinner – well, the kitchen isn’t really big enough for us both so Mum ferries the various plates & equipment onto the table whilst I prep salad & BBQ the burgers. Easy. Sun is shining too. All good.
She eats heartily including salad – remember, Mum has only had a McD Apple Pie & one cracker with a teeny-tiny piece of Cheddar on it all day – plus a couple of beers too. She asks what dinner’s called? Mmm. That was a bit worrying, as a burger is a burger in any language – especially when enveloped by a bun & you’ve lived in the U.S. of Americaness for over 40 years. We get through that & naturally she tells me it’s the best burger she’s ever had. Blah blah blah. All good.
She helps me clear up – Bob has returned back to Bob’s Throne from the dining table of course – & we water the plants & then wind down for the evening; England are playing Italy at footy tonight, so Mum manages about 20 minutes before heading upstairs to bed. She shuffles around a bit but nothing is untoward when Bob disappears around 21:30 & I head up to bed not long after. All very good.
All quiet until just gone 04:00 when I hear the tell-tale ‘Thunk!’ of Mum falling out of bed. Again. She confirms to Bob she’s ok & I hear nothing more from Laurel & Hardy until the morning.
SUNDAY 12th JUNE . . .
09:45 when they both alight. Mum’s quiet & a little lost, but I’ve seen her worse. Bob is Bob. I make coffee & Mum some granola with plenty of fresh fruit. Bob has an unripe banana. It is literally green & I suspect crunchy – which is the way he likes them, apparently. The weather is lovely so we eat outside as it’s a stunning morning with blue skies, fluffy clouds & bees in the poppies. Lovely.
They eat breakfast & we chew the fat, hang out the washing & simply pass the time until around midday when we get ready to go out, as Bob would like to have a trad Sunday pub roast for lunch – & eat in the pub garden too. And, of course, what Bob wants, Mum gives.
Turns out all local English country pub gardens are all full for lunch, but I manage to get a grab a table at Ye Olde Three Fyshes in Turvey – which is suspect is top of the tree in 17th Century ‘traditional’ English pubs that feature gardens & oodles of wooden beams & whattle ’n’ daub, but it isn’t available until 15:30, so we head out to our local farm shop to pick up some fresh veg first.
The weather remains glorious & it must be a refreshing change for the Deweys to see Blighty in all it’s ‘green & pleasant’ splendour this year, as previously they’ve only ever visited in the depths of winter. We spend a good while shuffling around Pells Farm Shop with Mum fascinated by the variety of veg on offer, where I buy the weeks supply of healthy green & red natural stuff & Bob buys a packet of butterscotches, before stopping at Tescos for him as he needs antacid tablets – I wonder why?!
We drop the groceries at home, have a cuppa & then head out to the Fyshes for lunch, which turns out to be a lovely roast for Bob & I with Mum choosing the Beef Stroganoff. Nope, I don’t know where that choice came from either, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Bob avoided every single vegetable offered, but we all enjoyed a couple of London Pride beers. Well, if you can’t beat em . . .
We spent a very pleasant couple of hours dining & chatting outside, including touching on life after their visit.
Ooh.
The subject of old age comes up, & I touch on Eva’s experience at Dorothea with her residents, & that without exception they all wish they had made 5-year plans to address potential future issues whilst they could – so they could make their own choices if you like, rather than someone they didn’t know making choices for them, & not necessarily being the right choices . . .
I posed this to Bob, did he have a 5-year plan?
Bob said he did.
Ooh.
I let the silence ring for a couple of seconds before enquiring further. He confirmed again that he did indeed have a plan & he had, I quote, ‘many, many options.’
Again, I remained silent for slightly too long.
Finally I gave in & asked what they were, as Bob’d always said he would die at Warner Woods Road – their home in the middle of nowhere in the U.S. of Anominity.
He said he hadn’t ever said that.
Oh.
I suggested he had said that to me, & on more than one occasion, but he countered that he didn’t think they would still be there in five years time.
Yep, they.
Oh.
Sorry, there’s a lot of ‘Oh-ing’ here, but it conveys nicely my jaw hitting the floor. Oh.
‘Ah, ok, why would that be & what will happen then?’ I ask, trying to at least move the conversation forwards so we could finish it before our beer gets warm.
He said they would stay there until they couldn’t take care of the property.
Oh.
No mention of taking care of themselves I note, simply taking care of the property.
‘Then what?’ I ask in the gentlest & most patient tone I can muster.
‘Then we have many, many options.’ Bob reconfirms.
Oh. We’re back here again. Full circle. Let me off – I’m getting dizzy on this ride!
‘?’ I exclaim!
Bob says he’ll look into that when the time comes.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
This of course brings us back full circle to the beginning of this very conversation about the vast difference to your quality of life when you are able to make your own plan about your own future than the ‘authorities’ getting involved & deciding for you, when he suddenly volunteers that Gina has Power of Attorney, so that if he is incapacitated in any way Mum & Gina will ensure his will is carried out, & if Mum has a serious issue then he & Gina will do all. Sorted.
Ah. Ok.
Blood out of a stone springs to mind, but I don’t press any further apart from saying that I am glad he has got something in place, because I have witnessed too many times older people being forced to do what they don’t want to do because they didn’t make plans for their own future, & I would hate to see that happen to both them. I didn’t necessarily want to part of those plans – I have no need to be in the slightest – but wanted them both to know I would step up if they wanted me to, but it wasn’t mandatory.
Bob didn’t offer a response so I left it there. There was no mention whatsoever of Mum living here in England with us.
I’d raised the issue & I’d offered my concern for them & I can do no more without overstepping the mark.
But I still worry for their future.
No disrespect to Gina in the slightest, but that’s a heck of a burden to place on a neighbour who you don’t even socialise with, let alone listen to.
I lightened up the conversation as it needed it, so waffled on about country pubs & the like, before we headed home the long way round via the country backroads, which they both enjoyed enormously – again, seeing a side of north Bedfordshire they hadn’t experienced before & genuinely amazed by the wealth of ‘countryside’ on offer.
We arrived home around 18:30, & Mum seemed a little ‘agitated’ – a little ‘on edge’ – as every 30 seconds she’d ask if there was anything she could do? Repeatedly. 10 times or more. I asked her if she was ok, as there really was nothing for her to do but to sit back & enjoy herself, & she then asked if Tim was coming home soon.
Oh.
Apparently he was out working today. Plus would the man & wife of the house – she couldn’t remember their names – be back soon?
All change.
I tried my best to paint a picture of reality but it fell on deaf ears, so I spelled it out as best I could:
‘Mum, your husband Bob is here, I – your son – Tim am here, so wherever you think you are & whoever you think you’re with at this moment in time, you are safe & loved, so please do not worry or be confused because all will make sense in a little while.’
This actually seemed to help, as the words ‘safe’ & ‘loved’ appeared to get through. She smiled, was quiet for 30 seconds & then asked if there was anything she could do . . .
I took this opportunity to let Bob know that after what I’d witnessed with my own eyes today, I would not have anything to do with Mum having beer in the afternoon ever again, as it was clear to me what was happening – both today & when they are alone together. I didn’t enter into any further conversation about it, I was done.
Mum gradually came back to some semblance of reality, & headed up to bed quite early. She shuffled some stuff around upstairs & then returned 30 minutes or so later in her nightgown, where she watched the Formula One with us.
Lia returned from the weekend away with the grandkids – long-planned, it’s Leanne’s birthday so she was whisked away by Paul for a stay at a spa – & we all caught up before the Deweys headed up to bed around 21:00.
All quiet apart from the obligatory ‘Thunk!’ of Mum falling out of bed at just after 04:00.
My, what a life they do lead. I’m not entirely sure I want to be sucked into it, as I find Bob enormously draining & Mum so unsure of her worth it actually hurts.