Sunday lunch with my Nan is always a delight and an honour, especially now as she is 93 and living with Alzheimer’s. I say ‘living with’ rather than ‘suffering from’ as, in her case, this is far more accurate. She is totally owning the despicable affliction. Of course, there are the heartbreakingly sad and difficult days and she is not immune to the physical, emotional and mental detriments of this truly awful disease. But, by and large, she is defiantly and decisively cheerful and resolute in her unchosen headspace.
It was very different with my grandad, who we lost last November to vascular dementia. A once brilliant man – professional footballer, cricketer and that most rare of things, a respected banker – he dwindled gradually away to nothing, in the end barely able to speak and almost unrecognisable physically to even his closest family.
But with Nan, the hold is very different. She both resists and accepts the embrace in equal measure. She know she is a bit bonkers and just goes with it. She thrives in her strange little kaleidoscope world and invites us to join her. The saddest times are those cruel moments of clarity when she knows for certain her condition and fears for her future, not least her present. In those bad days we can only comfort and reassure her as best we can. But through it all, she remains as elegant, naughty, adventurous and outspoken as any of us could ever hope to be.
For now she recognises her family – me, my mum and brother, our uncle and auntie – but the way she recognises us varies from day to day. Sometimes, we are small children. Other times, we are in various stages of adulthood. Sometimes, I’m sure, we are people from her past, made flesh once again by the cruel yet occasionally beautiful workings of her mind. But always she sees us as the essence of who we are – ageless, timeless – as if she recognises the souls of us, rather than the pretences we are so used to showing the world. Whatever the ravages of the disease, you can’t fool her. Just like you never could. Maybe there are some things about a person that can never be taken away.
Lucy Brazier 