Is that where the mad woman lives?

Mum has lived in her family home for over 40 years. She is known by many in the village where we reside, long before Alzheimer's set in. She used to volunteer at the local primary school, delivering hot meals to the elderly and vulnerable. I even accompanied her during my school holidays.

I remember that a couple of the people she delivered meals to were living with dementia themselves. Before we entered their homes, Mum would brief me that sometimes their behaviour could be quite unpredictable, often because she would gently wake them from their mid-morning naps to ensure they could enjoy their meals while they were still warm enough to eat. She would always introduce herself, explain where she was coming from, and why she was calling round. I could tell she didn't particularly like waking them up, as she knew what would happen.

In general, she never caused anyone any bother, had no enemies, and minded her own business.

Years later, we worked together in one of the local shops. Again, Mum would show extra care and attention to the elderly and vulnerable, acknowledging what comes to us all in time. Some would deliberately take their time in the shop, as this was probably the only human interaction they received during their day, and Mum would accommodate this need with her kind actions.

After she retired, and after many life experiences along with her diagnosis, Mum understandably began to change. Her behaviour, especially, was a very sad but common symptom of Alzheimer's. This was not her; it was purely the disease that altered her nature.

Sadly, this change affected people's perceptions of her, as she was judged for being unwell rather than for the person she is—or was.

I noticed some people beginning to cross the road once she came into view, keeping their heads down to avoid acknowledging her. The subtle eye rolls and the patronising tone that took over some people's voices were disheartening, as they treated her almost like a child, forgetting that she is a 76-year-old woman with her own life experiences.

A particularly startling moment occurred when a family friend confided in me about a conversation she had with a couple around Mum's age in a restaurant where she was working. This couple, who lived on our road but didn't know us personally, had labelled our home in such ways: "Oh, is that where that mad woman with dementia lives? She's nuts, she is; she needs putting in a home."

I couldn't believe it. This was a heart-wrenching moment, one that made me ashamed of human behaviour. My Mum was not mad; she was living with a disease that affected her brain and behaviour, not by choice. Sadly, it was clear that she was no longer seen as a person by some; instead, she was judged for being unwell.

The kindness and understanding she had shown to others over the years made it all the more upsetting to see that now she was the one in need of that same kindness and understanding. Sadly, it seemed to be overlooked, and she was perceived as a nuisance rather than the warm-hearted, caring person she had been before Alzheimer's changed her.