Some mornings I wake up and I'm not sure where I am. I don't tell anyone, though. I behave normally - but then I go and ruin it by not knowing it's Christmas next week, like I did this morning.
I don’t know what I’m doing in this
house. I want to go home. I told Richard I wanted to go home but he
says we live here. He’s lying, because
he wants to keep watching that silly television programme instead of taking me home. I might just go on my own, I don’t need him
to take me.
Such a big fuss. I
was on my way home, or so I thought, and the next minute the vicar was sitting
me down on a bench in the churchyard and ringing up my husband, who came to collect
me. Richard said that if I want to go
somewhere I must tell him, and that he'd been worried out of his mind when he couldn't find me. But when I ask
him to take me home he says we live here.
I know my house.
I can see Mother in the garden hanging out the washing, and I played with my dolls there when I was a little girl. I had an old tea set, and
I used to play tea parties with them.
Paul came to see me.
I asked him to take me home to that house, but he said I haven’t lived there for
fifty years. I said, "Oh." I didn't know what else to say. I don't understand. Sometimes I feel so confused I want to cry, because I don't know why I'm like this, and people keep telling me what's in my own head. I can understand why my son uses bad language at times, honestly.
~~~
Richard must have gone to work because he’s sent this
other man to look after me. He’s very
nice but I wish Richard would come back.
The other man says he’s Richard, but he must think I’m daft. This man has grey hair, and not very much of
it, either, and he’s old and portly, whereas my husband is slim, dark, young, and rather
dashing.
Sometimes I don’t know if I’m awake or asleep. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s odd. I think about things that have happened in
the past, and then something invades those thoughts – one of the people in this
house asking me if I want lunch, or another bloody cup of tea – and I can’t tell if I’ve just
been asleep and have woken up, or if I was awake before and this bit is the dream. I like it best when Richard is
here, or when my mind empties. When that happens, I see sky and sea, stretching out into the unknown. It
looks like a nice unknown.
~~~
Richard is here today.
He says he’s never been away, and will never leave me. He promised. That made me feel warm and safe. He shows me photographs of when we
we got married, and when Paul and Vicky were children. I do like looking at them, but I wish he
wouldn’t keep glancing at me to gauge my reaction.
Vicky came today. She had some children with her. They're my grandchildren, apparently. News to me. Vicky said, "Well, they grow up so fast."
Richard takes me to this place called a 'Day Centre', but doesn't tell me what it's for. They make me write down things like my name and where I live. It's tiring because I find writing hard these days. The people have names like Gavin and Becky on badges on their chests, and talk to me as if I'm stupid. It all seems rather pointless.
I don’t know where Richard is. I haven’t seen him for ages. The other man is always here, looking after
me. I don’t know who he is, exactly, but
I have a feeling his name is Alan. He’s
very kind but I wish Richard would come back. I wish someone would tell me where he is.
I got a letter today from my sister in Canada. I didn’t know I had a sister in Canada.
Alan is watching something on television, like he does
most nights. It’s boring and silly, so I
just close my eyes and think of the sky and sea. The sea sparkles in the sunlight. The water is clear, and calm, gently
rippling. It’s beautiful, so peaceful. I could just spread my wings and fly over it into the distance.
Alan is hoping I won't ask him to take me home again, I can tell.
I fell over again.
Lots of people got me into an ambulance, and now I’m in hospital. Richard comes to see me. I told him I loved him, and that made him cry,
the silly old sausage.
The nurses give me pills and I drift in and out of
sleep. I wish they’d
stop fussing round and just let me drift.
There is one nurse who is very bossy, like that horrible prefect in the
sixth form. Constance Markham, that was
her name. Anyway, I threw my hairbrush at
her today when she was trying to make me get up and ‘do my physio’, whatever
the heck that means. Serves her
right. Stupid woman.
Richard arrived again, with a pretty, smiling woman who says she is my daughter. Very funny. Vicky's only five. When they went away I closed my eyes and watched the light in the smooth, bright sky, and heard the soft ripple of the waves.
I’m in another place now.
Alan says it’s because he can’t look after me properly since my
fall. I need proper medical care, he says. I thought, but you don’t need to look after
me, my husband will do that. I
couldn’t get the words out, though. I
want to go home.
There are people here who all wear bright green t-shirts. There’s a big jolly one who makes me
laugh. She’s called Bernice. There are others, but I like Bernice
best. There are lots of other people,
too. I don't know who they are. I hope I can go home soon.
Richard comes to see me at last. Other people do, too, but I don’t know who
they all are. A pretty woman came and she was
very sweet, and kissed me, and talked about her childhood as if she thought I
would know about it too, but I don't know who
she was. I asked her to tell me and she looked as if she was going to cry. I shut my eyes.
The ladies help me to get into bed at night, and put my
nightie on. One of them says "I see you've been playing hide and seek with your slippers again, Margaret!" I haven't got a clue what she means. I think she's Polish.
This is a nice place.
I have a private room. I can’t
always find it, though. I look in a drawer to see if the room I'm in is mine but I’m not sure if the things I find belong to me or not. Bernice comes in and I try to ask if it's my room, but she just said, “come on, now, lovie, we’ll get you
a cup of tea in a minute,” so I must have said it wrong. I take the things out of the drawer anyway, and hide them under my cardigan so I can look at them later.
Alan gives me birthday cards. I didn't know it was my birthday. If I close my eyes I can see birthday pictures but they're in winter, and outside the window the sun is shining. He says I'm eighty-one. I ask if Richard will be here soon, and he
says he is Richard. He shows me pictures
of us together, and I realise how silly I am. I feel embarrassed. Of course. Alan is Richard.
~~~
In the chair by the window I look out and at first I see
the garden, but when I close my eyes I see the soft, pale blue, rippling waves,
so clear, and I want to float off on them, to the light on the horizon.
It appears to be Christmas. Don't know what I'm supposed to do. Alan is here. I expect Richard will pick me up soon to take me home.
~~~
I can see daffodils.
Alan holds my hand and tells me I can’t go home yet because I’m ‘incontinent’. Bloody ridiculous. I’ll wait until Richard gets here. At the other end of the room I see Vicky, my
daughter. I thought she lived in
Canada. She laughs and says no, she
lives only a few miles away. It’s lovely
to see her. She talks to me for a bit
about when she was a little girl, but then I close my eyes and see the sea and
the lovely light in the sky.
Sometimes I can’t get out of my chair, and I hate it. I’d like to shout for Bernice or Richard but I
never know if they’re here. I tried to shout just now,
but when I opened my mouth the words sounded all mixed up. Then this silly woman walked past and I threw a biscuit at her.
When I close my eyes and see the sky I feel at peace. If I try to move, my
body doesn’t work. Even my mouth won’t
work, and talking takes so much effort.
I can hear what people say to me but mostly they say things I don’t know
about. I think I used to know things and do things, but I can't remember what; it's all gone. At the end of the sea is the
still, calm sky. I’m getting
closer to it now, as if I’m sailing towards it.
It makes me happy.
My limbs are stiff and weak. They don’t seem to work much at all now. People help me get from one place to
another. I can hear but I can’t
understand, I want to tell people things but I don't know the words. Although I know I must be sailing because I'm on the water, I can't see the boat; I'm just floating. When I am on the water heading to the bright light, my limbs don't feel stiff, and I think that if I tried to open my mouth I would be able to sing.
I'm happy when Richard is with me, holding my hand. That makes me feel safe and loved. I'm happy when I'm on the clear blue water, floating towards that beautiful bright light. The people in this place (I think it's some sort of hotel) help me to do things. Eat, change, go to the lavatory - it's all a blur, really. There is one big lady who smiles a lot and makes me laugh, but I don't know her name. I hear her say to the pretty woman who comes to see me, "don't worry, your Mum's got the memory of a goldfish these days. I know, I know, it's tragic, love." I realise the pretty woman is my daughter, but I can't remember her name. I think I might have a son, too, but I don't know who he is. Never mind. Those biscuits look nice.
Each time I close my eyes I'm moving nearer and nearer the edge of the sea, and when I get there I will be happy and at peace. Swimming like a goldfish, maybe.
I hear a noise. I open my eyes and look up. It's Richard, waking me up and smiling at me.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" he asks me.
I want to tell him that I'd prefer some of the pink milky stuff they've been giving me lately, because it's sweet and smooth and tastes of strawberries like the ones we used to pick in the fields, Gerald and June and me, before the war. Gerald used to be sick from eating too many, and Mummy would say he was a gannet. I can see his red stained mouth now, and it makes me smile. No, I don't want tea, I want the nice pink milky stuff, but my mouth won't say the words. It doesn't matter. I smile at Richard. I love him. As long as he comes to see me and holds my hand, that's all that matters.
★.:*´`*:.☆
