Forget me not

Do you ever wish that you could forget? I will never be able to fully understand the death of my son! I know I have dementia and I know that my son died, but it doesn’t feel real.

I keep expecting him to burst through the door and rant while I stare into the abyss and pretend to listen. Oh if I had that time back, I would savour every word. Now he’s gone! He will never burst through that door again and it hurts. So yes, I start to drink whatever I can find whenever I can find it! It numbs my pain.

Man do I wish I could remember all of the little things about him! The scent of his cologne, the smell of cigarettes in the house. I always thought they would be the death of him, but no…...it was a heart attack. I’m told he was dead before he even hit the ground, but that means nothing to me! It won’t bring him bursting through the door!

Who do I have now to roll my eyes at? My daughters are very good. They take it in turns to babysit me, but I don’t need it! I’m fine as I am! Once I have a drink in one hand and another bottle in the press, I’m happy.

They keep trying to encourage me to get out of the house more, but where would I go? I don’t want to show my face off in public! I haven’t been to a shop in years. I’m happy out sitting here sipping my wine and dozing in front of the tv waiting for the interruption that will never come.

When people do open the door, my heartbeat quickens because for that one second, I think that its him coming home from his daily constitutional. Disappointment envelops me when it’s just one of the girls in to do their babysitting. I keep telling them I’m not an invalid but they insist so I go with it to make them happy.

I love it when my daughter, Dee and my granddaughter Nel come down from Dublin. It makes the house come to life. I get on very well with Nel. We have great chats and she isn’t mean with my lemonade. She sits on the couch opposite me and we watch gameshows. I don’t know what’s happening most of the time but she explains, going in one ear and out the other. Still its nice to have her there.

The house is so quiet and I feel so alone. I’m isolated in this house, my only form of companionship my daughters…...but they’re not who I want! If I could remember his death I could mourn him properly, but instead I sit and wait for the interruptions.

People look at me funny when I ask, do you ever wish you could forget?