Doug....

I can't believe I am actually doing this, but the fact that I am doing this, means something.

And Frankie...she means something.

That is why I have brought her here, and it's one of the most hardest things I have ever done, because I keep all those around me very separate from my mother. But it is time to let someone in. It's time to allow someone to step inside the morose part of myself that I have always kept so very well hidden from public view. It's a part of myself that can literally squeeze the air from my lungs and grip painfully tight around my beating heart.

And sometimes, I do stupid things at stupid times, because of that morose part of myself.
I have been so happy with Frankie, I actually thought that maybe that morose part of myself might decide to go and do one. But it hasn't.

It has no intention of going anywhere.

I think that's why I did that stupid coke last night.

Why I now have to be here, here with Frankie.

I just need her to understand. I need her to understand the reason why I sometimes do things that not even I understand.

Music has always been my escape. It's always been my sanctuary, somewhere that I could always run away from my troubles when they sometimes catch up with me. And I have troubles. Troubles that I never share. Because no one can help me with those troubles.

Being an only child, I have no siblings to share all of those troubles with. When my dad died, I became the only one who would always be there for my mum. And for many years, I have been there. And for many years, she was also there for me.

Then things began to change.

Her being there for me, slowly began to fade.

In turn, my being there for her also began to fade.

The beginning of that all ending, still haunts me to this day.

It has become all that I now run away from.

I have never felt ready to tell anyone about those ghosts.

I have never wanted to admit to the shame that regularly crawls beneath my skin, because of those ghosts.

Until now.

Until Frankie.

"What a pleasant surprise." After waiting for someone to let us inside, both Frankie and I are met at the front door by Wendy; one of the care assistants that has worked at Chestnut Cottage for many years. "Your mum is just in the communal room, we are having a bit of a sing-song in there this afternoon." Wendy is now smiling while her kind and experienced eyes subtly drift over to Frankie's direction as she safely closes the door behind us. "If you quickly sign in, I'll then take you both through."

In a hurried manner, I now feel like I ought to explain why I have someone with me. "This is my girlfriend, Frankie." I know I don't have to explain why I have company for this visit to see my mother, but Wendy does look politely surprised to see someone by my side while I'm quickly signing us both into the visitors book. Wendy knows that for the last two years that I have been coming here, I have always come alone.

"Nice to meet you, Frankie. Now you're all signed in, please follow me." With such a polite and warm smile, Wendy starts leading the way to my mother.

Frankie seems nervous as she glances over at me, wanting me to follow Wendy before she does. Guiltily, I smile as I do; beginning to feel really guilty for deciding to even bring her here.

And feeling even more guilty for barely speaking to her the whole time that I was bringing her.
If guilt had a scent, I'd honestly reek of the shitty stuff.

While I am following Wendy, I don't instigate any polite small talk with her. I never do with the staff. It's always so hard to be in this place. So hard to be around my mother and all the other residents who live here. I prefer to just keep the talking really brief, just how I keep my visits. I sometimes ask questions that need to be asked, and the staff tell me what sometimes needs to be told—because my visits are always so stifled and so damn difficult.

Still wearing that warm, professional smile of hers, Wendy soon presents us with the communal lounge. For a care home, it's always got a homely feel about it. I suppose that is why I chose this place for mum. When she first started coming here for respite stays during the day, she seemed right at ease at Chestnut Cottage. I still remember how her brown eyes had lit up with interest at the sight of the well-loved back garden. She loved the pretty greenery and the woodland that embraced the rear end of the house. Mum always did have such expressive eyes. When I am having a really good day, I even remember the fleeting moments of my mother's natural smile...but I don't get those natural smiles anymore.

"Your mum is just by the window. She loves to watch the birds who come and feed from the feeders." It doesn't matter what member of staff I talk to, they always talk so positively about my mother. They always say such encouraging things before I see her. But as soon as I do see my mum, those positive and encouraging words simply vanish into thin air. They vanish, because they seem so wasted on her. And today is no different. Wendy's positivity seems so lost on the woman who is sat so unnaturally still in her chair beside the window, just staring out of it with unfocused and unstimulated eyes.

Looking at my mum, my stomach clenches with the depressing pity that starts expanding inside of me. No matter how many times I have seen her like this, it always feels like I am seeing her for the very first time. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing my mum how she is now. I don't think I will ever be accepting of who my mother has become. "This is my mum, Frankie. She has early onset Alzheimer's. She doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know what day it is. She has forgotten how to dress and how to eat. She doesn't even know who I am anymore...but apparently she really likes to watch the birds." I'm now looking at my mum, who has her head at an awkward angle with her chin resting just as awkwardly on her collarbone. It's been three years since mum was professionally diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and the quiet sarcasm in my voice reveals that I still haven't come to terms with this bloody brutal disease.

Wendy doesn't react, she simply smiles again in my direction. "Let me know if you need anything, I think Roger is about to play Fly Me To The Moon...it's a real crowd pleaser." She cheerily says, before turning to go and rejoin some of the residents and the staff who are happily listening to the jolly pianist finish playing his version of Love Me Tender.

Frankie watches Wendy leave us, then she stands just looking back at me. There in her blue eyes, I see sympathy. No disappointment or judgement—just plain and simple sympathy.

The warmth of her gaze shifts from me and warmly across to my mother. Frankie then kneels down by the chair that my mum is catatonically still sat in, placing her own hand upon my mum's. "Hello, my name is Frankie. I am a friend of your son, Doug...it's very lovely to meet you, Mrs DiCarto."

I don't know why I feel a lump of emotion making it now so hard for me to breathe, but it's suddenly there and it hurts. Frankie is touching my mum in a way that I no longer seem to be able to. I watch the girl I love, treating my mum in a way that I have long forgotten how to. The painful lump is swelling, causing my eyes to water up with tears that I don't even know I have, until one escapes and swiftly slides down my left cheek. Rubbing it quickly away, I try to pull myself together. Looking at Frankie with my mother, the escaping tear has gone, but my hurt hasn't.

No words come, only emotions haemorrhaging my body.

Wrapped in sadness, I can only watch Frankie while she strokes my mum's hand and continues to talk to her about the simplest of things—Chestnut Cottage, the piano being played, the garden, the birds that she sees, the weather—a one-sided conversation that she seems happy to have with my mum.

Alzheimer's is just so unbelievably cruel.

So horribly indiscriminate.

Every stage of it is the cruellest thing a person can ever see.

Day by day, I have watched my mum forget how to be the wonderful mother she used to be. And day by day, I have found it harder and harder to be her son.

And I silently hate myself for that. Hate myself for being such a horrible and selfish son. I just want my mum to be the mum she used to be, and because she no longer can be, I now try to stay away from her and this pitiful place. I feel like I am constantly grieving for a living person. I am grieving for someone who is still here. I used to desperately cling onto all of the nice memories of my mum, but even those have now been claimed by her Alzheimer's. All of my great memories, have been darkly replaced with this progressive disease.

Everything my mum used to be, has now gone. The amazing person that she once was, has been stripped away in devastating layers. Week by week, I have been losing her. Her energy and her spirit, has dwindled away to nothing. My mum is now just the shell of my mum. Her love and laughter has gone. Her humour and wit has gone. Her mind and memories have also gone. I am left with nothing. Alzheimer's has taken it all. It has eaten away all that she used to remember. It has eaten away her personality and her soul. Nothing of my real mother is actually left anymore. All that is depressingly now left behind is her dull skin, her unused bones and her weakened muscles.

And for me, that will never be enough.

That's why I try not to come here too often.

That's why I try not to think about my mum too much.

Because when I do, I do reckless things to mask my pain.

That is why I have brought Frankie here. I don't want to keep hiding my pain. I don't want to keep being reckless. I don't want to keep doing this alone.

I am tired.

Tired of it all.

No one understands the agony of what I have seen and have been going through—the agony of what I continue to see and all that I am still going through. But meeting Frankie, she makes me want to share my agony. She makes me want to reveal the ghosts that haunt me every single day.

"How do you do that?" My solemnly asked question causes Frankie to look up at me from where she's still knelt down beside my mother.

"Do what?" She quietly asks with a small smile of curiosity there upon her kind lips.

My head tilts slightly, while I inwardly struggle to find the right words to say back to Frankie. "The talking and the touching her...how do you do that?" My reply tumbles out of my grimacing mouth with much more frustration that I had intended. Being here, in this suffocating place, it brings out all of my bitter frustrations.

Frankie stands, holding her caring hand out to me. She doesn't say anything at first, she just keeps her arm stretched out, wanting me to just take hold of her waiting hand. With hesitation in the soles of my feet, I take the few small steps needed towards her. As soon as my fingers make warm contact with hers, she then smiles. "Let me show you how."

**MALLION INTERLUDE 💋**

Oh my word, this hurts me reading this back. Poor Doug. Struggling and so scarred by his mother's illness. I would love to hear your thoughts, you gorgeous readers.
If you're enjoying aTRACKion.... please do hit that shiny star button!

The video above is the very emotive: NOT ALONE - SONG FOR ALZHEIMER'S by HARRY GARDNER