You can check out Oloriel’s challenge here.
I’ve always tried to be a good daughter, though in the majority of cases distance has played an important factor and I haven’t been able to visit as much as I’d like, or as some would consider, I should.
I’ve written about being the Other Daughter , poetry for Mother’s Day, and a variety of posts about our visits Down South, not all of them good. There are linkages here.
In fact, I was talking about my Mum today, and the time we went down for the weekend to look after Mum to give my sister a well deserved break.
It felt wonderful talking about how I sat at the piano and played the golden oldies, hearing my Mum singing or humming in the other room as I played, reeling back the years to a time she could remember with such clarity.
Now 95, she remembers more from 40 odd years ago than what she had for breakfast, or if she did in fact eat her breakfast. Dementia does that.
I don’t ring because I know it confuses and perplexes her not to be able to put a face to the voice on the end of the phone. I write every week, and she reads, and re-reads my letters, knowing who they are from. It doesn’t matter what the date on it is, to her it is always a new and current letter. I don’t expect to get a reply, but I write anyway.
I will always be her baby, even though she forgets my age, and for years always got my name wrong, calling me by my sister’s name, and my sister by mine. Now, she gets it right.
I find that endearingly odd after all this time.
I love her dearly, and will protect her from pain or worry as much as I am able.