‘Ooh, is it Christmas? I love Christmas.’ She snatched it from me and held it in both hands, gazing at it excitedly.
‘Are you going to open it?’ I encouraged her gently.
‘What? Oh yes, in a minute.’ I’d lost her again; her mind had wandered off somewhere else, to some far-away place. I hoped it was nice there. Minutes ticked by, and when Mum started to slowly peel the tape from her present I took a moment to study her. The last few years hadn’t been kind to her. Even as her mind had begun to give up on her and she’d lost a little bit more of herself with each and every day, the vibrant, happy woman she’d always been hadn’t disappeared completely. It had always been there, if you’d known where to look, in the subtle upturn of her mouth at some small piece of joy, or the glisten in her eye when she remembered some happier time. Now though, it seemed as though Mum’s last sliver of sparkle had finally disappeared, and most of the time she was just an empty, sad shell. Her eyes were blank, her youthful glow had become a dull grey despite the make-up, and she dressed in baggy, shapeless clothes that made her look at least ten years older than her fifty-seven years. My heart ached for her.
Finally, Mum had her present unwrapped and she stared at it.
‘It’s a necklace Mum,’ I explained, leaning over and lifting the delicate silver daisy from its silky base.
‘But I have one of these already.’ She looked up at me in confusion.
‘Yes you did, but you lost it.’
‘I don’t think I did.’
I smiled patiently and pulled it from the box.
‘Do you want me to put it on for you?’
‘Yes please.’ I stood and moved behind Mum’s chair, carefully closing the clasp and letting the daisy hang against her chest. Her fingers flew up to touch it.
‘Does it look pretty?’
‘It does.’
‘Michael bought this for me you know, for our tenth wedding anniversary.’
I smiled. ‘I do know.’
She smiled back, the memory pleasing her.
‘I have something else for you,’ I said.
‘You do?’
I stuck my hand into my bag again and this time I pulled out a Christmas angel. When I hadn’t been able to find the one Mum had wanted at Dad’s house, I’d taken mine from the top of the tree and wrapped it up for her, hoping it would suffice. I held it out to her now, and she took it gently and pulled the paper off. I studied her face for a reaction as she saw what it was. Then, completely out of the blue, she threw the angel on the floor in anger. ‘That’s not mine,’ she said, and when she looked up, her eyes glistened with tears.
‘I know it’s not exactly the same, but you wanted an angel for your tree didn’t you?’ I said.
She shook her head vigorously and I waited for her to calm down before reaching for her hands which were fluttering in her lap.
‘It’s okay Mum. It’s fine. We don’t need to talk about it any more.’ She sat staring into the distance just over my shoulder for a moment, her confusion clearing. I was furious with myself. I should have known any old angel wouldn’t do. Mum might not know who I was, but she knew that wasn’t the Christmas angel her daughter had made her thirty years ago. The mind was such a cruel place sometimes.
When I was sure she’d calmed down, I said, ‘Would you like to listen to some music?’
‘Ooh yes please,’ she said, any upset seemingly forgotten already.
Relieved, I reached into my bag and pulled out the mixtape and a tape player. Mum watched with the interest of a small child but didn’t register any recognition at the box or the handwriting on it, so I carried on.
I’d decided to play it safe and try one of our regular songs first. Seconds later the room was filled with the sound of David Bowie telling us to dance. I watched closely for Mum’s reaction as she let the music wash over her, transporting her back to another time, another place. It never ceased to amaze me how instant the reaction could be. Mum’s face relaxed, all the lines and creases softening, her worried frown smoothing out and her shoulders dropping. For a few minutes, as she listened to one of her favourite songs, she was no longer Penny the dementia patient, waiting in her residential home for her time to come, scared of everyone and everything. She was Penny, the funny, crazy, inspirational, independent woman who was loved by everyone who knew her. She was my mum again and my heart felt like it might snap in two. These moments, when I had my mum back again, were both amazing and heart-breaking all at the same time.
The song came to an end and her face changed almost instantly. I pressed stop on my phone and reached for her hands. She looked down with confusion at where our fingers were interlaced and I squeezed them gently. She peered up at me, her grey eyes intense as though she desperately wanted me to know something she couldn’t remember how to express. Then her gaze slid to my phone again.
‘More?’
I nodded and released her fingers. I loaded the mixtape into the player this time, then found the right track. ‘I thought I’d play you something a bit different today Mum, is that okay?’ She nodded, so I pressed play and waited for something to happen. My heart thumped. This was it.
And sure enough, seconds after the first jangly notes of ‘Pretty in Pink’ by The Psychedelic Furs floated through the room, Mum’s face lit up again, a look of intense adoration in her eyes.
