Day 2,076 in the Nanny June Care Home

The One Where I Disappeared.

I have no medical or scientific evidence to back up my belief, but I know that seeing me often kept those little neurological pathways firing off memories and echoes and prompts that kept me recognisable and identifiable most of the time.

Coronavirus has kept Nanny June and I apart for longer than we would have ever imagined and this separation has created space for her to lose me along with everything else.

Today we were not a mother and a daughter. I was no more related to her than the carer who constantly sat with us (supervising we didn’t break any essential COVID regulations).

Me: It’s me, Elizabeth.

NJ: Elizabeth?

Me: Your daughter?

NJ: I can't see your face. The light is in my eyes.

Me: Okay we can move... Is that better? Can you see me now? Do you see who I am now?

NJ: No.

Me: Your daughter?

NJ: My daughter?! I don't think...

Me: You don’t remember me then.

NJ: No. And I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything for me.

Despite the memory loss she could cognitively work out the loss and the lessening impact it had on her life when she had memory loss.

We spent some time outside in the beautiful July sunshine, admiring the weather, watching the clouds and talking about the oak tree in front of us and she said this is the happiest she has ever been - all while my insides just crumble away in a silent grief of being forgotten by the person who I want to keep me in mind forever.

But the weird thing is that emotional memories last longer than physical memories. My presence was familiar to her and by the time I came to leave, unbeknownst to me something in her realised that she knew me - and we were connected. I didn’t realise this until we had the conversation when I was leaving, and it broke my heart a little bit more.

The home have been amazing with arranging the visits so far and my half hour slot was unofficially extended so I got to have a whole hour with Nanny June before she decided she was done and wanted to go. I started our goodbyes.

Not being able to make physical contact meant that I had to make do with just a royal wave from Nanny June.

And as our socially distanced paths literally went separate ways and Nanny June’s wheelchair turned to follow the path back inside the home, I followed mine to the carpark. Nanny June’s face fell as she realised I don’t live with her.

She was devastated. Then angry. Then just loved me.

NJ: Where are you going?

Me: I don’t live here.

NJ: Oh? You don’t live here.

Me: No. Sorry.

NJ: You are going?

Me: Yes. Sorry.

NJ: Fine then. Go. Bye.

Me: Okay. I love you.

NJ: I love you too.

It reminded me of the Mother’s Day not long after Nanny June went into the home and with the planning of an army I took Nanny June out for lunch. This was when the dementia was far less advanced. We had a lovely time and when I got back to the care home and parked in the car park there was a horrible few minutes that had me explaining that this were her truth now: she lived in a care home and wasn’t coming back to my house or her own. The journey from my car back to her room was one of the most heart breaking journeys I have made.