The last month turned
Written by John MacphersonMy mum had been confused for a year or two, but had coped well enough with some friend and family support.
But she fell and broke her hip a couple of Christmases past.
The ambulance men took her to hospital. It became obvious that she was suffering badly from dementia, and it only required the effects of the fall, and hospitalisation, to reveal the extent of her confusion. She had coped only because of the familiarity of ‘home’.
Social Work assessment was ordered, and the decision made that she would not be allowed to return home.
Ever.
She was 83 years old, a good age to have reached on your own.
It fell to me to close her flat, remove some of her belongings that would fit in the small room in her sheltered placement – her new ‘home’, and to dispose of the remaining items. Mum in her confusion refused to sign anything, to stop her rent, her phone, her electricity and told me, angrily, to sort it out myself.
That was not easy.
I contacted a local charity about her furniture and other belongings. Two men appeared in a small van one day. One was brawny, scarred, shaven-head, ex-military and scarily tough. The other was somewhat odd.
They started to remove the furniture and boxes of a lifetime.
Removal © John MacPherson
The conversation with them went sporadically, in between their removal and delivery of mum’s furniture, and return for more.
Army man said “We moved to the highlands, me and my partner, for a ‘new start’. We did a lot of driving around in a small van until we found a place that felt right.” They had fetched up in rural Lochaber (in a remote part, but very ‘right’ in my opinion) “We were living in a tent, then a caravan” He didn’t add that this was through two of the coldest winters on record. “The people have been so friendly” he said. “I’m doing this work as a volunteer, I like ‘community’ and being a part of it. Too many people don’t value community. I do. This is my contribution. It gets me out and I meet people. I find out about stuff.” he added.
They took the oak display cabinet and boxes of plates.
Then they came back for more.
“We gave the display cabinet and plates to a young Polish immigrant family who have no furniture” he told me on his return “They could not believe how lovely it is, they were so so happy. The woman was quite emotional!”
The sideboard departs © John MacPherson
They took the large orthopaedic bed and a wardrobe next.
They came back for more.
“A Latvian immigrant family got the bed and wardrobe. A husband and wife and two young children. The two parents were crying when they saw it, they were so happy. They have no furniture. They said to say thank you to your mum.”
The carpets went next, and the large flat screen television, and pots and pans.
Before they left, the Army man told me his workmate has a learning difficulty and this volunteer job is therapeutic for him, but he’s very fragile and gets depression. “I have to look after him.” he said.
They came back an hour later. “The young Scottish family who got your mum’s carpets have no furniture and no carpets. They were crying when we carried in your mum’s stuff. They said to say thank you.”
“And the tv went to a large family who have no television. The young children were so happy they were jumping up and down so much I felt like Father Christmas!”
He was quiet for a moment, then asked me “What was your mother like? People are asking me to tell them where this lovely stuff has come from. Whose was it.”
I told him. It took a while. He cried a little too.
They took a microwave, a cooker and a fridge next.
They came back for the rest fairly quickly.
“The young Polish family who got the cooker were delighted. They have no furniture, but now they have a cooker and are really really happy!” he told me.
When they had cleared everything all that remained was a view of the sea and a seashell echo of memories. And nothing else.
The last month turned. © John MacPherson
Well nothing except the calendar, stuck on January, the month mum fell, and was removed. Six months previously. An event that has in its own way made so many young people cry with happiness.
The sadness of it all is that mum does not know this.
Even though I told her yesterday. And last week. And the week before. And the one before that.
Author — John Macpherson
John MacPherson was born and lives in the Scottish Highlands. He trained as a welder in the Glasgow shipyards, before completing an apprenticeship as a carpenter, and then qualified as a Social Worker in Disability Services. Along the way he has cooked on canal barges, trained as an Alpine Ski Leader & worked as an Instructor for Skiers with disabilities, been a canoe instructor, and tutor of night classes in carpentry, stained glass design and manufacture, and archery. He has travelled extensively on various continents, undertaking solo trips by bicycle, or motorcycle. He has had narrow escapes from an ambush by terrorists, been hit by lightning, caught in an erupting volcano, trapped in a mobile home by a tornado, kidnapped by a dog's hairdresser, rammed by a basking shark and was once bitten by a wild otter. He has combined all this with professional photography, which he has practised for over 35 years. He teaches photography and acts as a photography guide & tutor in the UK and abroad. His biggest challenge is keeping his 30 year old Land Rover 110 on the road. He loves telling and hearing stories.
Discussion (16 Comments)
One of the most moving things I have read in a long long time John. Painful but uplifting at the same time. Thank you.
Thanks Ben. Silver linings are not always so shiny that you notice them immediately.
This is a very moving piece – extremely touching. I know my elderly mom isn’t far from moving on – we’ll be going through the emptying of the house as well.
Thanks for reading Tom.
I initially contacted a big regional charity to remove the surplus stuff. They were so cavalier, unhelpful and rude I told them to forget it. I contacted a small rural-based unheard-of local charity working at grass-roots level on a shoestring budget. They were wonderful. Although I had not thought much about it before the event, I realised just how much it mattered to me (and would matter to mum too) that all her carefully saved-for, well looked-after stuff had gone to people who cared. And that it was taken away by people who cared too.
Small things, at the end of a big life, do matter.
Very moving article!
Here in Hamburg, Germany there are several „shops“ where one can leave (smallish) stuff to be collected (three items/visit) for free. They are called „Umsonstläden“. We try to donate stuff we don’t need any more or can give to friends (we have two growing children).
Rolf
Thank you Rolf. Yes we have similar charity/giving shops here too. My problem with managing all this is that I was doing this 70 miles away from where I live, a long drive, and looking after a 3 year old as I was doing it. To have it collected as quickly and conveniently as possible was the ideal thing.
A moving story told with great simplicity. My Mum had well over 5000 books and hundreds of ‘National Geographic’, ‘Spare Rib’ and ‘Nova’ magazines! They were the last things to go and made an amazing ‘Manhattan Skyline’ stack in the room that was emptied of everything else..Thanks so much for the post.
Stunning sharing. Thank you John.
Really beautifully written, a moving piece. Thank you for sharing.
I became the sole caretaker for my mom, now 87, through a series of back-to-back incidents that made it necessary to move in with her. Not easy for 2 stubborn, independent people, and certainly not the life either of us would have envisioned. But that attachment to things like clunky pieces of furniture is pretty much all she’s got left – your story of the joy brought to other homes and families is…. well, it’s the way it should be, isn’t it?
Thank you for a heartfelt, beautifully written piece – it’s not easy to mix the two.
A truly wonderful piece. Deeply touching and very well written. Thank you.
Thank you all for your kind comments. They are really appreciated. I needed to find some way to come to terms with all of this and as a lover of ‘the bits at the edges’ in life I was heartened by the unfolding drama of the day as stuff went, and stories and emotions returned.
It’s funny how these events rarely exist in a vacuum, and the counterpoint provided by all the other lives that were being touched by this simple event was very heartening. And I guess made even more poignant by mum’s lack of real awareness of just how much she was impacting on people who really needed some small gesture made to them.
Dementia may rob you of a lot but it cannot take away the presence you once had, there’s always something left to underline it.
A wonderful, though sad, story. I have a lump in my throat. Keep on telling your mum John – one day it might make a connection for her.
Thanks Catherine. It’s sad, yes, but it’s an ongoing story, and the good days are great – we had one this week, but there are other days I leave weeping and try to explain to William why granny is unhappy, and why that makes daddy unhappy too. The filter of a child is a great way to view it all. William just accepts it whatever way it is and takes his pleasures as he finds them. We take our border collie in too, and the staff and other residents love it and I just leave William and the dog to get on with it and collect them on the way out. A care home where collies may roam freely is a pretty good place to be I think.