She asks everyone this when they come around. Her room is like a little self-contained flat. There’s a bedroom/living room, a bathroom, and a “kitchen” with a sink. All the appliances are dementia friendly, like a shower that automatically turns off, or a sink with a pressure sensor that drains if it gets too full. One of the problems with having dementia when you’re young is that you’re still fit and able and can get into a lot of trouble that a less mobile person cannot.

“Why don’t I make it and you can stay where you are,” I said.

I had to ask one of the staff to bring us some tea. Mum’s not allowed a kettle in her room, but I don’t like to embarrass her by saying so.

“Why don’t you get us some biscuits, Mum?” I said when the girl came in with a tray. Mum pottered into the “kitchen” and took a melamine plate off the shelf.

Sometimes it strikes me how strange this all is. My smart, amazing mother couldn’t even have a kettle anymore. I followed her into the kitchen and threw my arms around her and hugged her tight. She hugged me back. Sometimes she doesn’t. When I pulled away she was looking at me with that absent look. Mum was always so shrewd, so insightful. It was her job as a psychotherapist. When that sharp look in her eye is missing, she looks like someone else.

She stood in the kitchen dithering and I could tell I’d distracted her and she’d forgotten why she was there. It’s funny; we’ve all had that moment where you go into a room and suddenly the whole reason you were there is wiped from your brain. You know it’ll come back to you if you give it a second. I sometimes wondered if Mum felt that way, that whatever she’d forgotten, a task, a memory, someone’s face, would come back to her in a second. Or if it’s gone so far that she doesn’t even know she’s forgotten anything.

“Biscuits, Mum,” I prompted.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” she asked.

“We’ve got tea. We need some biccies. Do you want me to get them?”

She shooed me away from the kitchen and arranged some chocolate digestives on a plate. She was getting clumsier all the time, as though her muscle memory was fading too, so I watched her carefully.