‘Baking was a way through Mum’s dementia’
By tapping into a shared hobby, Julie Jones, from Cumbria, found a way to reconnect with her beloved mum after she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s
A family tradition helped one daughter reconnect with her ailing mum
‘My most precious memories are the hours I spent in the kitchen as a child with my mum, Joyce. I would stand on a stool at the counter while Mum folded her pinny in two and tied it around my waist. She would show me how to carefully weigh the ingredients so we could make delicious cakes, tarts and crumbles. She prided herself on her cooking skills and loved to feed my two older brothers and me comforting, traditional meals. Her hotpot was a firm family favourite and her carrot cake was legendary. As I grew older, I came to love cooking, too.
Mum was my best friend. I’d speak to her on the phone every day and we’d see each other several times a week. She was great with Evan, my oldest son, who’s now 16, looking after him as a baby and toddler – the perfect gran.
Mum always had a head for numbers, and I followed in her footsteps by working in company accounts. Though I liked my job, what I really wanted to do was cook delicious food for people and make them happy, as Mum always had. Mum encouraged me to follow my dream, and so did my partner, Jonah. With their support, 10 years ago, at the age of 30, I gave up my job and started a full-time three-year catering course. It was full-on, but I loved it, and my hard work paid off when I gained a month’s placement at one of chef Heston Blumenthal’s restaurants.
When Jonah and I decided to get married, Mum was a huge help with all the wedding arrangements. But just weeks before the big day, in May 2010, I noticed something was wrong. When Mum began to blurt out a few odd remarks, we put it down to tiredness.
But a few weeks later, when she got lost while driving home on a route she’d taken hundreds of times, alarm bells started to ring.
Mum was only 67, and it was hard to believe what we’d all started to suspect, but after we persuaded her to have some tests, we got the news we’d been dreading – she had Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia, a related condition. We were all devastated. By this time, Mum had already declined considerably and it was heart-breaking to see her personality change so completely. She’d always been so happy, so considerate of other people. Now she was anxious and depressed and would lash out with frustration. She was often distressed, unable to understand what was happening to her, and my stepdad, Gerry, was finding it hard to cope with her at home.
Though she was still a physical presence in my life, I found myself grieving for the mum I’d lost. The one who was always smiling, the person I could tell anything to, who would share my hopes and dreams over a glass of wine. Our relationship had always been loving. She always wanted to treat me, even buying me presents on Mother’s Day. It was only a special day because we could share it, she said. Now she rarely recognised me.
Around the start of Mum’s illness, I had my second son, Oscar, now six, followed two years later by Myles. Looking after three boys made it the busiest time of my life, but with Mum deteriorating quickly, I resolved to spend as much time with her as possible. At first I’d take her out to a cafe or to the local parks she’d always enjoyed.
But as she deteriorated, the crowds and the noise began to frighten her, and soon she didn’t want to go out at all.
One afternoon, we were sitting in my house. Mum was sad and anxious, and I was wondering what I could do to connect with her.
Then I had a brainwave. “Let’s bake a cake,” I said. I took her into the kitchen and, as she stood by my side, I weighed the ingredients, just as I’d done for her when I was a child. I handed Mum a wooden spoon and, to my surprise, she started to stir the mixture. As she worked, a smile spread across her face, and for the first time in months, she seemed happy and relaxed. It was as if baking a simple sponge cake had triggered something in her memory. For that brief moment, she was Mum again. From then on, we baked together every week. Although she could barely manage anything for herself by this time, when we were going through the familiar ritual,
I could feel her coming back to me. Together we made crumpets, cakes and Swiss rolls, and her favourite – custard tart. With every creation, we would sit down and sample a slice. I began to use Instagram to write about the journey Mum and I were going on and post pictures of our bakes. It was cathartic to document all the emotions I’d been experiencing. As my number of followers
There are over 100 different types of dementia. Alzheimer’s is the most common.
grew, it became clear I wasn’t alone; that many other families were experiencing the same heartache. I took huge comfort from all the messages of support I received, never more so than when, two years ago, Mum’s condition became so bad, she was sectioned and moved into a care home.
It was so painful to leave her there but she couldn’t do anything for herself and was becoming increasingly distressed. Although I visited several times a week, telling Mum about her grandsons, there was no recognition at all. Many times I gave her a cheery wave, then sobbed all the way home.
Today, I visit Mum as often as I can, and though she no longer knows who I am, I relish the time we have together. Each time I visit, I take her something I’ve baked and it feels wonderful to be able to put a smile on her face.
I continue to post pictures of my bakes on Instagram and update my followers on Mum’s condition. It helps to take my mind off what’s happening. It has also led to something wonderful. One of my followers was a book editor, and she contacted me about writing a cookery book. I was thrilled. I wanted my recipes to reflect my life with Mum and I’ve included some of her favourites, such as the Victoria sponge cake we used to bake together. Though she’s too ill to know it, Mum is my inspiration, and I’ve dedicated my book to her.
I wouldn’t wish my situation on anyone, but I know how special it is to have had the love my mother gave me. Her mind might not let her remember me any more, but I know that love is still in her heart, just as it is in mine.’ Julie’s book, Soulful Baker (Jacqui Small LLP, £20), is out now