Sunday

The hunt for the lost house keys continued. The obvious place to look was Lesley’s dad’s house as that was where we both remembered seeing them last so that meant going back again. I’d handed them back to Lesley when I returned from his local Tesco with the dressings for his hand. I thought she’d put the keys down on the dining table. Lesley couldn’t remember what she’d done with them because her dad was talking at her and had distracted her.

He has a knack for that. It doesn’t matter whether Lesley’s on the phone or obviously doing something that needs concentration, he talks at her. I can’t tell whether he doesn’t know or just doesn’t care that he’s interrupting and he’s been doing it for a very long time.

It was a risk letting him know that the keys had gone missing as it was entirely predictable that it would make him anxious. Equally predictable were his denials of having seen them and his failure to remember having moved them ‘somewhere safe’ if he had seen them.

A quick check of the obvious places they might be – the drawers he uses most, his pockets and the bin – revealed nothing. But then we’re increasingly finding things in places that aren’t obvious so a more extensive search might be needed. That was for another day.

If I had any money I’d put it on the keys turning up at his house after I’d changed the locks here.

And so to The Home…

Mum was in a much better mood today. Talked non-stop. I understood about 10 words…

“{indistinct}… It would be good if he stopped doing that.”

“Would it Mum? Do you want me to have a quiet word with him?”

“No.”

Mum drank a full milkshake and had a small pot of yoghurt. That took 45 minutes. I tried her with some of the food they brought for me but she just spat it out.

There were occasional references to Uncle Eric, Aunt May, her mum and dad. You’d only know if you knew the family though as she mumbled, muttered and whispered through her monologue.

When the carer came in to check on how much Mum had eaten and take away the plates she asked Mum to tell her who I was.

That’s something I never do. I tell her it’s me when I go in her room and if she knows, she knows. If she doesn’t there’s no need to challenge and embarrass her. I’m particularly reluctant to test her her now that the signs she knows who I am seem so rare.

Mum couldn’t answer.

10 minutes later she was talking to her Other People like I wasn’t there.

Another 10 minutes later she was falling asleep.

Bloody hell.

Author’s Note

My Mum is in a nursing home in a small village in the Thames Valley. The photo is not of the home. I used an AI image generator to give the reader some idea of the home she’s in.

All, some or maybe even none (you’ll never know!) of the names have been changed to protect privacy and hide real identities. If you think you recognise someone then let me know and I’ll edit the post or remove it entirely