Last Thursday I went on a pilgrimage to Poynton, my parents’ village. I have never forgotten how wonderful everyone was when first Dad, and then Mum, became ill. So I had written to the vicar offering to give a talk. My offer was accepted. So I found myself travelling to Poynton. And down memory lane.
When Dad had his stroke I had just been made Chair of the National Forum for Values in Education and the Community. We were charged with identifying a set of values to underpin the National Curriculum. It was not long after the murder of Jamie Bulger, and there was a sense of moral crisis in the country.
In Poynton there was no moral crisis. Once it was realised Dad was not going to recover, help came from all sides. Teenagers helped Mum with her shopping (and sat through her lessons on ironing!), friends took her to church, people sat with Dad whilst she had a break. The village was a lifeline for Mum.
All this went through my mind as I travelled past my old school, past the station garden I voluntarily tidied, to the station where Mum’s Alzheimer’s first became undeniable (p.60/1 of Keeping Mum), up the road I used to trudge, Dad carrying my suitcase, long after I should have been carrying things for him.
I was greeted by Iris, who told me she had been toOberammergauwith Mum. Immediately I was flooded with memories of the anxiety I felt about that trip. Mum had been determined to go. I was aware of how much her fellow-travellers were going to have to put up with. But Iris made me laugh. She reminded me of Mum’s mean streak, which the Alzheimer’s greatly execerbated. Everywhere they went, Mum ‘forgot’ her purse. Oh dear, the embarrassment…I offered to pay Iris back but she wasn’t having it. They were happy to do it she said; ‘everyone loved Lesley’.
That was the tenor of the whole session. There were about 40 people there, most of whom had known Mum and Dad. Lots of people came up and told me anecdotes, everyone mentioned Mum’s sense of fun and her ability to tell a story. Afterwards I walked to their old house, up for sale again, and gazed at the garden they loved so much.
It prompted vivid memories of Mum and Dad as they were before they became ill. It felt so right. They lived. They loved. They grew old. Then they died. This is how it is for all of us. At least it is if we are lucky. And if we are lucky the details are largely irrelevant.
I am left with a warm sense of closure.
