A Day in The Life of Me

Good morning — or at least, I think it’s morning. I have been awake since 3:30 am. It was very dark when I was woken up. I lie there for a moment, listening. Somewhere between the kitchen and her bedroom, Mum wanders from room to room, searching for who knows what. Surely it can't be time for breakfast; it feels as though I have only been asleep for an hour.

When I sit up, I have to remind myself: do I really want to start the day now? Mornings are tricky. Mum no longer recognises what time of day it is. I always try to encourage her to stay in bed for just 'ten more minutes', but as soon as her feet touch the ground, she's awake. In her world or mine, I can't tell.

At the table, I prepare toast and tea. “Good morning, Mum, I'll pop the TV on.” Sometimes she smiles and gets cosy on her sofa, happily drifting back off to sleep; other times, she isn't quite so cooperative, but that's just life with Alzheimer's.

After breakfast, it's time for her medication, and the slow process of getting ready for the day begins, starting with a sneak peek out of the window to check what weather I will be dealing with. Mum makes her first tug at the front door, saying, “I want to go out!”.

Later, we go for a walk. The air is crisp, and I can feel the wind. Did I remember Mum's woolly hat? Sometimes I lose track of where we’re going; I follow my feet most of the time, navigating around roadworks here and there. “Come on, Mum, this way!” But she has her own route in mind, and it isn’t the quiet one I had planned.

Afternoons are slower. I nap when she does or watch something on Netflix if I can't drift off. I prefer to make the most of watching something new rather than the same show over and over; it's Groundhog Day enough in my world.

Evening comes quickly now. Mum takes herself off to bed when she pleases, and I follow to my own room shortly after.

When the light fades, the shadows start to play tricks, and I can hear Mum's footsteps wandering across the floor once more. “Would you like some warm milk, Mum?” With a nod and a smile, she takes a sip and heads back to bed.

As I drift off, I hear footsteps again. “Can't sleep, Mum?” “Go away!” she snaps, slamming her bedroom door in my face. “Good night, Mum, see you in the morning.”