I am always full to the brim with love and gratitude. I know that it was because of my childhood. I was the luckiest girl alive. I grew up surrounded by family that loved me and listened to me; they supported me and told me I could achieve anything but that I didn’t have to. I was home educated, which made me different and happy to be different, to be an individual, be really creative and discover self-motivation! 

 The experiences that I had as a child live on in me every day. When I walk through the park, I feel strong memories of walking with my mum, collecting conkers and dancing in the autumn leaves; when I read, I vividly remember sitting in front of a log fire with my mum taking it in turns to read aloud and when I roll up my sleeves and bake bread I remember when she taught me to plait bread and I thought it was incredible! 

Every day was the best day. I loved my days with my mum. I loved evenings out playing with my friends or at swimming, judo, dancing or youth club. I loved Saturday mornings, climbing into bed with my mum and dad while they drank coffee and planned the day. 

Sometimes these memories bring a tear to my eye. I can never go back there, but I know that my mind can do something more powerful. I can close my eyes, and I can travel back. My central nervous system doesn’t know the difference. I can relive those moments, step into those memories and feel that joy, whenever I like! 

My parents and I were always very close. We talked and listened to each, laughed and cried together, shared hopes and dreams. My mum and dad did all they could to lift and inspire me but also make me realise the I was enough, just as I was. 

 Yesterday my mum asked for my name. There are many moments of being an Alzheimer’s daughter that has taken my breath away. The first time my mum accused me of taking drugs when she flinched away from me like I was going to hit her, the first time that I held her in my arms as she cried and told me that she’d be better off dead. These moments are like mini traumas. They are as physical as someone smacking me hard to the ground. My mum, my hero, she is a shadow of the person that used to read to me: my mum, the most important and precious person in my life. I have two mums now. I remind this mum who I am, I tell her about the day I was born, and I wrap my arms around her. My old mum lives in my memories; she lives in the pages of my books, the golden leaves on the ground and crackles of the log fire. 

I am always full to the brim with love and gratitude.