From superhero to sadness and back again

Yesterday morning, I was driving up Chapel Lane towards the Hill. I was on the regular trek to buy food for my elderly parents, my elderly mother in law and husband and our family. I slowed down as I noticed a mother and a little boy walking along the road. He was stumping along in a determined fashion and as I went past, I noticed he was wearing a superhero mask. His stance, his gait and his age (around three) all screamed, “I am a superhero today! I have magical powers. There are no limits to my world.”

Do you remember feeling like that? We probably all went through that phase and then life slowly taught us that actually our world is limited and that pushing the boundaries and following our dreams is hard and sometimes painful.

Continuing on to the Hill, I started thinking how life goes from one phase to another and how sometimes, it overlaps so that you’re living in what feel like a number of different dimensions.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was trying to reason with my own three-year old son. I would gently wake him from his nap and try to get him out to the car to pick up his older brother from school. This never went well. Bribery didn’t do it, making it into a game was laughed off and even logic (which, eleven years on works a treat with him) was a no go. The only way I could ensure a relatively smooth transfer from house to car was by agreeing to supply him with the correct clothing. If it was cold and rainy outside, he would put together an outfit of shorts, a sun hat and wellies. If, however, we were experiencing a warmer spell, he would call for his winter coat and woolly hat. This made me the laughing stock of the mothers at school. I was prepared to go along with it, however, as it did what was needed, ie got us from A to B.

Back then, my parents were still living eighty-five miles away in their house, completely independent and in excellent health. I was devoting most of my attention to keeping three children and myself alive while trying to work from home. 

Last year, due to ill-health and increasing frailty with both parents, we moved them up here, five minutes away. Last March, they were still pretty perky. Yesterday, I walked in with the shopping to find Dad sitting on the sofa and Mum lying down on the bed. Of late, they’ve been sitting outside in the garden on their new garden furniture, reading their books and enjoying a cup of tea and a shortbread finger. It’s easy, with the sunlight streaming down and the doves cooing in the background, to forget how old they are and how frail.

It felt like a shock. From a little boy with a mask to an elderly man in a cardigan on the sofa telling me he’s not as strong as he used to be (he’s 94). I went to lots of trouble to sort them both out with hearing aids when they moved. They never wear them. I have to shout at the top of my voice to make myself understood, but according to Dad, his hearing is still very good.

“I’ve brought you some cake!” I bellowed. Dad cupped his ear with his hand.

“What’s that?”

“CAKE! I’VE BROUGHT SOME CAKE!”

His eyes lit up. He loves the cake. I went through each type and he beamed. It’s so easy to make him happy.

Just then, Mum shuffled through from the bedroom. I told her about the cake. Dad laughed and wagged his finger at me.

“You never told me we had cake!” His face was wreathed in smiles, delighted at catching me out. The Alzheimer’s is definitely getting worse. I’ve learned how to manage it now, just as I learned how to keep my toddler happy.

“Well, we have. Carrot with ginger and some lovely cheesecake for your pudding.”

Coffee made and cake served, I fed the tortoise, did the washing up and made sure they had something ready for dinner. Then it was back home to make everyone’s day by telling them about the cheesecake I’d bought (it was Wednesday, after all) and to don my own superhero mask and start writing.

Yesterday felt as though lots of my phases were coming together. The children dress themselves these days and it’s been a long, long time since one of them threw themselves on the ground and screamed. My parents have gone from independence to relatively contented dependence.

I’ve changed so much in the fourteen years since we moved to Suffolk. I look back at the optimistic girl who left everything behind to make a new life and smile wryly at her unquenchable belief that all would be well. Something I couldn’t have predicted is that one day I would put on my own superhero mask every day as I sat down at the computer to write.

I never did take the risk of having dreams or following them. That was far too dangerous. But for the last few months, I’ve been putting that mask on and whispering to myself, “I am a superhero today! I have magical powers. There are no limits to my world.”