Dementia: Reliving The Nightmare

I heard Maureen crying at 2 am this morning.  When I asked what was wrong she said: ‘I’ve been having a bad dream’.  Once again she was trying to work out if her only daughter was dead.  After a short while, she said ‘It’s true: she’s dead isn’t she’.

Music is one way of dealing with our grief this morning.

Denise loved Irish music so this one is very appropriate:

She was also was very fond of  Reggae, particularly this one from Bob:

The consensus of opinion is that Maureen’s dementia rules out grief counselling.   To an extent, I can empathise with Maureen’s loss as my first wife died at the age of 29 wasting away with cancer just like Denise.  I know that talking to Maureen about the happy times we spent with her daughter reminds her of a beautiful woman: a chip off the old block!

If distraction is needed this morning our weekly trip to Freeman Street Market should do the trick.  Maureen will be in her element as she chats to stallholders as we buy fruit and groceries for the week.  Then it’s on to Aldi to ensure the in-house chef that cupboards will be well stocked for his exploits.  Clee Medical Centre was excellent again yesterday, with an offer of an immediate appointment for Maureen’s troublesome mouth, which I declined to allow Sleeping Beauty to rest a while longer, so a swab will be taken on Monday.

Oh dear, it may not be the Market after all as Maureen is currently looking out of the window checking on ‘her car’ as ‘she wants to see her mother today’.  She is worried that  ‘if someone takes her car that she wouldn’t be able to go’: another Groundhog Day may be looming as Maureen has no recollection of her mum’s funeral.

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