TUESDAY 14th JUNE . . .
Groundhog Day morning with Bob rising around 09:00 & Mum at 09:45; they both seem stressed today but I, for once, am a picture of calmness & reason & leave them to each other.
Mum seems very agitated with Bob – I think it’s because they’re moving yet again to stay somewhere new tonight – Pilgrims Progress, the cheapest pub in town – &, of course, Mum’s routine is being disturbed & Bob is, with the greatest of respect, not the easiest of travel companions . . .
I fix Mum coffee & breakfast & give Bob the opportunity to pack, but it proved really hard to tear himself away from his tablet so by the time Mum had finished her hearty start to the day Bob had only just started with the packing. I heard them bickering from downstairs, but kept out of all until Mum came down stressing about what a horrible man he was.
No shit Sherlock! Stoppit.
‘Well Mum, it looks like you’re faced with a choice today, of whether to go to London for the day with Bob as he wants to visit the British Museum, or stay here with me & will do some stuff in the garden & go out for a walk somewhere & enjoy the wonderful weather. Whaddya think?’
Suffice to say she chose Bob. She did verge on Timmy Time for a brief second, but as always, when push came to shove she is 100% influenced by pleasing Bob. ‘That’s fine, your choice entirely Mum, but I’m here if you’d like to spend some time together.’
That sounds healthy eh. I mentally & emotionally felt good.
It’s become increasingly obvious over the few short years we’ve known each other that I’ve expected my Mum to act like a Mum, but alas she doesn’t have that experience, skill, desire or simply that maternal quality or gene – that je nais quoi. That very something that bonds a Mother to her son.
I have expected too much & expected something that Mum hasn’t been able to offer, so during this week I’ve finally recognised this & let it all go. I also have expectations of Bob, which I’m beginning to address now too. They’re my expectations &, I think many would agree, are entirely reasonable as being morally, ethically & basically ‘good’ & ‘right’, but they are my expectations & entirely unrealistic for this husband & wife of 40+ years alone together &, I must admit, come from my initial rejection as an adopted child & the constant rejection when Mum chooses Bob over me. Let’s be honest though, why wouldn’t she choose Bob? That’s the crux of the matter: why would Mum choose me (or my ‘way’) over Bob (or Bob’s way), because she has a lifetime of going his way. It’s kinda obvious right, but took me a long time to see it & even longer to accept. D’oh.
So now, after expecting too much for too long, I can wind my neck back a bit & simply be there to make a difference to their lives if either of them want it. Let’s face it I have no real right given on how we have lived our lives apart for 50 years – sigh – & the relationship we have now, but I am finally able to simply be a source of help & love if it’s ever needed, in a healthy & productive way. I pray.
Right, where was I, ah yes – Mum was going to go to London with Bob, & right on cue he appeared at the corner of the stairs huffing & puffing.
Mum asked what was up as he didn’t look too well. He replied that packing the case hurt his back, to which Mum quipped that he insisted he do it all alone so he should’ve asked for help if he needed it. 15-Love.
I grabbed the bag as he waddled down the stairs & he entered the room to more questions from Mum about how how was doing & that he didn’t look fit to visit anywhere, let alone London. 30-Love.
Bob said he was fine & was looking forward to going to London. 30-15.
Mum wasn’t sure so again made reference to him being physically up to it & would he behave decently – 40-15 – before Bob hit a series of cross court winners about wanting to go & being ready to go & let’s go! Game. Set. Match. So . . . Mum went!
I loaded the car with their much heavier bag this time, & dropped them at the Pilgrims where Bob had booked three nights for them – & left them to their day together.
I noticed a sign on the door as I left, saying the pub was closed that day for maintenance, & wondered how that would pan out later . . .
I kept an eye on them remotely via the key tag, & saw that they did indeed visit the British Museum in London & were on their way back at around 17:30. That’s late I thought, I hope they’ve eaten well.
Well, imagine my joy two hours later at 19:30 when Bob video called me in a panic because Mum was uncontrollable & he hoped I could calm her down. I got a little background about what was up – Mum basically didn’t know who he was or where she was – let alone why – & repeatedly asked for me to get her out of that place & away from this horrible man.
I enquired if they’d eaten, & Bob confirmed they’d had a sandwich around 13:00, so I voiced that my guess would be that six hours later & after a strenuous day walking around London & the British Museum – plus the change of routine of course – Mum really needed food above anything, so a good move would be to go & get dinner sharpish.
Sigh.
Bob does not appear to be able to put Mum’s needs above his own wants. Traipsing around London to a destination that she finds boring without feeding her really is asking for trouble IMHO, & there’s a distinct possibility that lunch was spent in a pub too of course . . .
Now, Bob then dropped one, because he told me the Pilgrims Progress pub was closed for the day so what could they do? I asked if that was the only place he was considering eating in whilst staying there, as nutritious food isn’t high on their menu, but there’s many other places nearby which he’d either seen or we’d talked about before. He was a rabbit in headlights. Again. I ran through half a dozen & left him with directions of where to find many options.
I had a very strong feeling of this needing to play out to its natural conclusion, because today was life with Bob, & that’s exactly what Mum chose & can expect for her future.
I used the AirTag to see them walk up to the High Street, & then head to & visit the Bedford Brewhouse & Kitchen. Ahh, of course, a pub! No wonder all my suggestions of restaurants fell on deaf ears!
At 21:35 I receive another video call from Bob with the opening gambit of: ‘She’s worse!’
Naturally Bob associates my suggestion of food of being a cure-all method, rather than other factors coming in to play – & he sounded almost smug that I was ‘wrong’ – but ok, ‘If she’s worse, what can I do & how can I help you both?’ I ask.
I get Mum on screen & try to talk some serenity & calmness into her world, but she is furious with this horrible man – who is or isn’t Bob or is or isn’t a small Arab man or is or isn’t Trish from years ago or or or; I simply ask: ‘Mum, what would you like me to do to help?’ She confirms she desperately wants me to pick her up, immediately, which I agree with, & let her know I’m on my way & will be with her within 20 minutes, & ask Bob to stand by his tablet as I shall call when I’m two minutes away so they can be ready for me.
I duly jump in the car & when two minutes away from their hotel I call Bob – no answer. I call again – no answer again. I repeatedly call – in fact I constantly call with no answer & park the car on double yellows outside the hotel & now constantly press the Night Doorman bell too. I’m there for what seems like an eternity – ok, ok, it’s probably no more than three or four minutes – & it flits through my head to break the door down as it looks like only flimsy top & bottom bolts on a glass door; or simply call 999 & say my Ole Mum is distressed inside with a strange man & has called me in a panic to get her out, thereby introducing Bob to our finest Constabulary – but out of nowhere a fella* appears & asks if I’ve lost my card to swipe the lock. I tell the truth – that my Mum wants me to pick her up from the hotel, I’m trying to get through on the phone to her now but she’s not picking up & I’m worried – so the fella* lets me in. I walk up to reception & tell another fella about Mum when out of nowhere Bob picks up my call! Ah ha!
🙌
I ask Bob if he’s ok as I’ve been ringing for ages but I don’t really hear his answer as I’m busy asking the receptionist for the American’s room number, which he tells me. Bob tells me that Mum has fallen over again so I ask if she’s ok but I hear him tell her, ‘He can’t get in.’
Oh. 🤔
Mmmm. Did ‘he can’t get in’ mean ‘I will need to let him in’ or ‘he can’t help you now.’ My gut feeling was the latter . . .
However, as always the miracle is in the timing eh, & just as I hear Bob tell Mum that I couldn’t get in I knock on their door & ask Bob if he hears the knock? He did.
‘Good, let me in Bob, it’s me.’
Mum opens the door immediately & hugs me like never before.
I want to type that again, but bolder, so you get an accurate impression of what just happened:
Mum opens the door immediately & hugs me like never before.
When she finally lets me go, I tell her all’s ok, I’m here, & everything’ll be fine. She tells me about the horrible man so I walk around the corner & find Bob cowering in a chair & his opening remark to me is: ‘Don’t blame me!’ I ask him what’s going on, why is Mum in such a terrible state? He waffles; Mum waffles – we all waffle!
Mum then tells me she wants to stay with her husband. Oh. I ask if she’s sure, because she had called me twice & asked me to get her out of here & she was more than welcome to come & spend the night at ours, where Lia was looking forward to seeing her & having a lovely cup of tea. No stress. No fuss. Just some peace ’n’ quiet along with a bit of love.
Insults are thrown by both the Deweys, culminating in Mum saying that Bob was no husband to her – to which Bob replied she’d been no wife to him for two years.
Ouch.
Oh my, he hasn’t accepted she ‘comes’ & ‘goes’ & that her reality isn’t the same as his, so her opinion will vary depending upon her mood & which way the wind is blowing:
Bob hasn’t or won’t accept that Mum suffers with dementia.
Oh no – this is so sad & although not entirely unexpected as who would want to accept it, as surely there must always be hope in his world that the medical boffins can stop her decline, right?
Yes, her dementia & Capgras come & go depending on her well-documented circumstances, but this to me clearly illustrates the root cause of their problems:
Bob treats Mum like he always has.
No allowances are made. None.
Ouch.
We will need to talk about this. Some how.
Back in the room, Mum questions: ‘What the hell does that mean?’ so I jump in & remind her about Lia & an impending cuppa, & let’s face it, who can possibly resist that?
😉
Mum agrees & I don’t hang about – as Mum is capable of changing her mind quicker than Lia can change her outfit, & more often too – so I simply give Mum a hug, then walk towards the door saying: ‘Let’s go & get tea with Lia’ & out we went. Not a glance back . . .
I stopped at reception to let them know Mum was coming back with me for the night – as she was distressed with her husband & needed some reassurance & care – & the fella* thanked me & told me it was good to know for the fire rosta etc., in case of an emergency.
We jumped in the car & headed home, & from that moment onwards Mum was absolutely fine. Absolutely fine. And when I say ‘absolutely fine’ I mean as right as rain; bright as a bubble; sharp as a tack & any other cliché you can conjure & half a dozen you can’t . . .
We arrived home, Mum hugged Lia, we had a cuppa & chatted for well over an hour. All good.
Nice.
Mum got ready for bed & once orientated went to sleep with no dramas.
Double Nice.
Naturally, I was woken by the dreaded ‘Thwack!’ But this morning it was at 05:00 rather than 04:00. Still, I was there in a nanosecond, made sure she was ok, popped her back into bed & she then slept soundly until morning.
Thrice Nice.
*fella = visually & actually suspiciously similar to the shopkeeper in Mr Benn. I kid you not.