Walks with my Mum

Walking is something my Mum loves to do and used to do on her own.

Sadly, through no fault of her own, she is no longer safe to do this alone, so I accompany her twice a day.

What starts out as a nice and relaxed outing—looking at birds in the trees, petting people's dogs, and talking to those we meet—eventually turns into a source of dread.

Mum's hand would start squeezing my arm tightly, her pace would increase, and she would become agitated, constantly shouting, "I want to go out." I acknowledge her mood shift while trying to distract her from her seeming unawareness of her surroundings by showing her the birds in the trees and the squirrels burying their nuts in the ground, but she is no longer interested.

Mum would begin raising her voice further, asking, "What are you doing?!" I would always reply, "I am out for a walk with my Mum," all while she starts tugging at my arm or pulling her arm sharply away from mine, huffing and growling.

I have to be wary of the times I join her for a walk. She prefers to go first thing in the morning, which causes me anxiety as children walk to school. I don't want her to frighten them with her outbursts. Similarly, Mum has no patience during peak times to wait for traffic to clear so we can cross the road safely; this is another battle I have to prepare for.

The village where we live is expanding at a rapid pace, which increases Mum's confusion in a place she has called home for over 40 years. I struggle to find routes that haven't changed, with more and more houses popping up, while trying to avoid roadworks and traffic lights from construction sites or gas checks. Society can't always accommodate dementia, so we carers are left to navigate the constant changes for them.