But just as special’

When her mother was diagnosed with dementia, writer Fiona Gibson was anxious about how the festive season would unfold…

It was Christmas day, 2012, when my family and i realised something wasn’t quite right with my mum. usually razor-sharp and hilariously competitive when it came to playing board games, she seemed unable to grasp the rules. At first, my husband Jimmy and our three children (twin boys, then aged 15, and a daughter of 12) found it funny. My mother, Margery, had a naughty sense of humour, and we assumed she was just winding us up, playing the “dotty granny” after a couple of glasses of fizz. However, she had also festooned Jimmy with an enormous array of presents – around 30 parcels in all – which seemed bizarre and was unprecedented. She would normally give him something like a book or a scarf.

“do you think there might be something wrong with your mum?” he asked later that night as we cleared away piles of torn wrapping paper. i agreed that she wasn’t quite herself. A few weeks later, as her only child, i mustered the courage to take her to see the geriatric psychiatrist who held a weekly clinic at our local GP’s surgery. Mum was 77 years old and otherwise in excellent health.

She shrugged off his diagnosis of the early stages of dementia as “rubbish”.

By the time next Christmas rolled around, Mum’s symptoms had worsened. She had become more confused, forgetful and erratic in her behaviour. Luckily, as we lived a short walk away, in Biggar, South Lanarkshire, we could keep a close eye on her and help out with shopping and chores. However, although still able to live alone, she was prone to paranoia and would often imagine she had been burgled. i was incredibly nervous about Christmas day, and how things would pan out.

Mum had spent every Christmas with us since her second husband died aged 69 (my parents divorced 30 years ago). we knew she loved spending the big day with us. Christmas was a huge event to her. For weeks beforehand, she would stitch beautiful decorations for our tree, make clove-studded orange pomanders and assemble extravagant stockings for her grandchildren. it felt so important that the day went well, and so Jimmy and i planned it with military precision. it would be fun, but not too hectic or challenging.

while Mum used to enjoy a glass or two of wine, we knew it wouldn’t help matters, so we stocked up on alcohol-free tipples. She had taken to watching her favourite films – which happened to be children’s movies – repeatedly. i told our kids we’d all be sitting down to watch The Railway Children, which Mum adored – and that was that.

i still feared that a tearful or angry outburst from Mum would spoil their day, and reminded them that they would need to be patient if she told the same anecdotes over and over. they looked at me in disbelief. “Of course we won’t mind,” my daughter retorted. “She can’t help it. She just forgets.”

And so the day came. As arranged, Jimmy and i went to pick up Mum with the intention of bringing her to our place for a festive breakfast. Although she