On Thursday when I visited my Mum in hospital, she asked where Mum was.
"Do you mean your Mum?"
"Yes"
"You're 90 now, Mum, so if your Mum was still alive, she would be 120."
"Has she died?"
"A long time ago. When she was 94. Don't you remember?"
"No."
This is the worst part of dealing with dementia, when you have to tell somebody about a death that happened years ago. I had to tell her about my father, who died 23 years ago and her sisters, but I wasn't expecting to have to tell her about her mother. Even the older memories are going now.
She may forget it again by this afternoon.
Still, she's losing her ability to worry and is starting to live more and more in the moment. That's the good part of dementia.
