I waste no time and put her out of hermisery as I know she will be agonising about where things stand. I text her.“Make your way over. We will be heading out shortly. Love you loads. T xxx”
As for everything else, that is not soeasily resolved. I researched the usage of the pills I take for my ‘anxiety’and sure enough they are widely prescribed to people suffering with psychosis.Everything I have been told and everything I have read points to the onlylogical conclusion there is – the report was correct, I have a mental illnessattributed to the trauma I experienced during childhood. However, my heartstill aches for my siblings and I still don’t feel ready or equipped to justlet them go.
At least George and I agree on one thing –our itinerary for today which involves going to see mother. She is very muchbattling her own demons held within the fierce grip of dementia. But she isstill my mum at the end of the day and, when I am feeling as low, I know justbeing in her company will lift my mood.
I have already rung ahead to find out howshe is doing today. Happily, I was told she would be able to see visitors asshe is having ‘one of her better days.’ It is a welcome relief. I resolve toput all my worries to one side for the time being, focussing instead on myvisit. It has been so long since I saw her last. Would she even recognise me?We have chatted often on the phone, but it is not the same as seeing her in theflesh.
That being said, I must set myexpectations low. Yes, she might well be having ‘one of her better days’, butthe reality is she is battling a serious brain disease. She might recognise mebut equally she might not have a clue who I am. George and Janey areaccompanying me to the home, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I reasonthat she is used to people going in and out of her room so it should be fine.One sniff of mother getting upset or feeling crowded though and I will givethem their marching orders!
A rather sheepish-looking Janey arrivesshortly after I end the call to the care home. I know in my heart I have to putmy faith in her. We have so much history together, so many shared memories. Ican’t help it; I need to draw a line in the sand. I need her support and loveway more than I need to make an enemy of her right now. I hold my armsoutstretched. “Come here, love.” The tentative look she had melts instantlyinto a wide beaming smile and she willingly moves towards me and surrendersinto my arms.
We waste no time in setting off. Thegeneral consensus is that it is best to go and see her as soon as possible ifshe is feeling well. Just the very thought of seeing mother in the flesh afterall these years has lifted my mood tremendously. Janey too appears to have aspring in her step. No doubt she feels lighter after shifting the weight of theburden she has carried around with her all those years. “No more secrets,” iswhat I whispered to her just before we left and she matched my plea, “No moresecrets,” being her response.
There was no question what I was goingthrough since the night George turned up on my doorstep was gruelling. But atthe same time, it was cathartic. Even the news which Janey divulged last night.It felt good, almost in a cleansing sense. Everything was out in the open.Nowhere left to hide. “No more secrets.”
It felt courageous ‘coming home’ to Skye.I had never been truly honest with myself for although I have remained livingin Scotland, it was blatantly obvious I was in a sense on the run, fleeing frommy past. Without George’s constant cajoling there was no way I would havereturned here. I had smothered down feelings of guilt when I thought aboutmother, reasoning what could I feasibly do to help her now and that she was inthe best place. Regular phone calls to the home had helped to quash thesefeelings somewhat but it is no substitute for seeing her in the flesh. Thisfelt right. To be able to visit her, to see her, not just a voice at the end ofthe phone. Perhaps it might even be good for her mental health to see me, tohelp her memory come back even if only temporarily. Or perhaps I am expectingtoo much, I must keep reminding myself she could just as easily be locked intoher own little world.
When we arrive at the care home a‘Beatrice’ is there to greet us. She doesn’t even need to speak. She needs nointroduction. She looks exactly how I pictured she would following the manyconversations we have had over the years.
“Thomas! It is so good to finally meetyou! Mary will be thrilled, I’m sure.”
“The feeling is mutual. I am so lookingforward to seeing her but before we go through please, I need to extend myheartfelt thanks to you and your team for all the work you do with mother. It isso greatly appreciated.”
“Oh no, not at all, we are just doing ourjobs.”
“I understand that, but it can’t be easyat times and it is a great comfort to know she is being well looked after.” Ipause and take a sharp intake of breath. “One more thing, Beatrice …”
“Yes?”
“She hasn’t had any more unwantedvisitors?”
“Aah, your father?” Inod in acknowledgement. “No don’t you worry, Thomas. He hasn’t shown his faceand if he did, believe me the Police would be notified. All our staff membershere are well aware of the situation and trust me, there will not be a repeatperformance.” I release an audible sigh of relief and Janey reassuringlysqueezes my hand.
Beatrice senses mynervousness. “Are you ready to see her, Thomas?”
“Of course, lead the way.” We dutifullyfall in line with Beatrice at the helm and eventually reach her room. She asksus to wait outside for
