Where Has Mummy Gone?: Part 3 of 3: A young girl and a mother who no longer knows her. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ I encouraged as I looked through the viewfinder. ‘Smile, Amanda.’ But no smile came. I hadn’t seen her smile in a long time and I knew that smiling was lost in patients with advanced dementia. I tried again without success and then took a picture. Although it wasn’t full face, it was nice and showed the two of them sitting close and looking at the album.

      We stayed for an hour; it was long enough. When I said it was time to go Melody didn’t protest. ‘See you next week, Mum,’ she said. Then realized her mistake. ‘No. See you in two weeks.’ Neither of which meant anything to Amanda, for she’d long lost any sense of time.

      She came out of the room with us and as we passed Mr Wilson’s room it remained quiet. Intrigued, Melody stopped and retraced her footsteps, stamping a little to see if she’d get a response. I knew then I’d have to tell her, but Amanda beat me to it. Having hardly said a word all visit, she suddenly said very clearly, ‘He’s dead.’ Then continued along the corridor to the main door.

      Melody caught up with her. ‘What did you say, Mum?’ she asked.

      Amanda looked at her nonplussed and didn’t repeat it.

      ‘I’ll explain once we’re outside,’ I told Melody.

      Mr and Mrs Bennett appeared by the door and I saw Amanda looking at them with hostility for reasons I didn’t understand. Then, before the care assistant arrived to let us out, Amanda left and walked down the corridor in the direction of her room.

      ‘Bye, Mum!’ Melody called after her, but there was no reply.

      As soon as we were outside Melody asked, ‘What did Mummy mean about Mr Aeroplane Man?’

      I took her hand. ‘I’m afraid he’s died, love,’ I said gently as we walked. ‘He was very ill.’

      ‘Oh. My mummy is very ill. Will she die soon?’ Melody had asked me similar before and I always tried to be honest. ‘I don’t think your mummy will die yet,’ I said, ‘but you’re right, she is very ill.’ Melody accepted this, but again I wondered how much of her mother’s decline she should witness. It was impossible to predict how quickly the disease would progress, but from what I knew I thought it was likely that Amanda had many years before it proved fatal, by which time Melody would be older and hopefully able to understand and cope with what was happening. She’d also be in a better position to decide how often she wanted to see her.

      On Saturday the weather was very warm for the end of May and while Adrian continued studying in his room, the girls and I went for a long walk in the woods – a local beauty spot not far away. On Sunday we went to see my parents, again leaving Adrian behind to study. He only had a couple more exams to do the following week and then he was finished, so it was worth making this last all-out effort. My parents were sorry he couldn’t make it but appreciated why he hadn’t come with us.

      On Monday, once I’d taken Melody to school, I went into town and had two copies of the photograph I’d taken of Melody with her mother printed. I also bought two frames. Melody was delighted when I gave her one of the framed prints and she positioned it on the bookshelf in her bedroom so she could see it from her bed. She was looking forward to being able to do similar in her mother’s room when she saw her the following week. On Tuesday after school Melody began play therapy and she wasn’t impressed. She was fine going in with the other three children, but when she came out at the end of the session she was scowling. Dr Marina Short had brought the children into the waiting room to return them to their parents and carers and said to me, ‘I’ve had to explain to Melody that the artwork she’s done has to stay in the room and can’t be taken home.’

      I knew this from other children I’d fostered who’d attended play therapy, but not the reason behind it. ‘Why is that?’ I now asked.

      ‘I wondered the same thing,’ another parent said.

      Marina looked slightly taken aback. Perhaps no one had ever asked before. She took a breath and addressed us all.

      ‘Play therapy is designed to encourage the child to explore their personal world through art and craft. We provide a safe environment that allows them to get in touch with their innermost thoughts and feelings through the process of creation. These are sensory-based experiences – visual, tactile, kinaesthetic – which encourage the child to express and record their experiences, perceptions, feelings and imagination, which they may not be able to verbalize. What they produce is very personal to them and they may want to return to explore it at a later date, so we keep it here safe.’

      There was a moment’s silence. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think I understand.’

      ‘I don’t,’ the other woman said under her breath.

      On Thursday evening we baked and iced cupcakes, ate two each and put the rest in the cake tin. This was the week Melody didn’t visit her mother, but I would still go. The following day I took some out for Amanda and wondered if any of my family would notice that the cakes were disappearing faster than would have been expected had it just been us eating them. My visit to Amanda that afternoon was very similar to my previous one. We spent some time in the lounge and then went to her room, where we looked through the photograph album. I’d no idea if Amanda knew who I was, although I told her a few times. Once she said Melody’s name as we looked at her photo. I said, ‘Yes, well done. That’s your daughter, Melody. She’s at school now. She’ll see you next week.’ But that was it. As usual I left her the box of cakes and replenished the fruit bowl. I also asked a care assistant if Amanda needed anything, but was reassured she didn’t.

      Friday was also the last day of Adrian’s exams and when I returned home he was already in and relaxing. He would still have to go into school until the end of term, but the lessons were vocational for those who’d taken exams to help them decide on a career and choose the subjects they wanted to study at a higher level.

      Jill paid one of her statutory visits the following week and, having updated her, I made my suggestion for including play therapy in foster-carer training to give us a better understanding of what happened in a session. She thought it was a good idea and said she’d pass on my suggestion. I also told her I was seeing Amanda every other Friday when Melody didn’t. She couldn’t see a problem with that but pointed out that if Melody found out I’d have to explain my reasons for not telling her. She also said it was nice of me to go. I shrugged off her comment. I wasn’t visiting Amanda to ‘be nice’. I was going because I had got to know her, was looking after her daughter, and because she was very much alone in the world. It reassured me as much as anything that she was being well looked after. I told Jill that I doubted Amanda knew who I was or remembered my visit after I’d gone.

      ‘Or maybe she does,’ Jill said, ‘in which case your visits are even more important.’

      Our weekday routine continued and towards the end of June Lucy and Paula had end-of-year exams, and Neave visited. She didn’t have any more to tell me but said family finding was ongoing for Melody. I updated her on how Melody was doing, including swimming and her visits to her mother. I said I felt that Amanda’s disease had plateaued for the time being, as I hadn’t noticed much change in her in the last month, and Neave agreed that was the nature of the illness. I told her that Melody was a little ambivalent towards the play therapy but didn’t mind going. At some point Marina would write a report for Neave.

      School broke up the third week in July for the long summer holidays, and as Melody was now at home I had to suspend my visits to Amanda on alternate Fridays, but obviously still took Melody as normal. Although the weather was lovely and some residents were outside in the courtyard, Amanda never СКАЧАТЬ