Mum celebrated her 96th birthday. A big number everyone agreed. Even she was impressed. Although she did keep having to ask ‘How old am I?’ I’m used to her forgetting that sort of thing – however I was surprised she also kept asking ‘Is it my birthday today?’ Even though she’d spent a long time opening birthday cards, unwrapping gifts, and admiring a bunch of red roses bought, very kindly, by one of the carers. For tea we had a prawn cocktail, which she really likes, and chocolate fudge birthday cake. The next morning, the carer asked mum if she’d had a cake, and mum said no. I was a bit miffed. I said, well, should she make it to her next birthday I won’t bother to do anything special, if she’s not going to remember!
At the weekend, we had a visit from Great-Granddaughter. The rest of the family came too, but the little girl is the only one who counts. As she is now a toddler, I had to make the house baby-proof and then spend the next day reconstructing everything I’d dismantled. Not that I minded; she’s a sweet, engaging little thing. And mum really did enjoy her birthday party.
I wonder how many more she’ll have. Someone asked if she’d like to make it to a hundred and get a telegramme from the Queen? In the past, mum has said she didn’t want to live that long. But this particular morning she was perky, and thought perhaps she might. My heart sank. I said, if mum does live for another 4 years, she’ll be living in a care home! The person gave me a surprised look – but it’s true. I’ve spent two years now as a f/t carer and it hasn’t been easy. Now the tasks involved are becoming increasingly more onerous. I find myself thinking: I didn’t sign up for this! To imagine I could continue for double that length of time with mum’s increasing deterioration is – well – unimaginable! On the other hand, if I knew for sure this was going to be her final birthday, I’d carry on here with an open heart. If only I did know!
The wedding! Apparently I had fun at the party….