Alzheimer’s disease is cruel and capricious: its memory loss can be infuriating, inopportunely funny, tragic and invariably heart-breaking.
Everyone afflicted suffers differently, and TV presenter Ruth Langsford has learned from personal experience how to respond to the repetition, bewilderment and disorientation it brings.
For she has watched the piecemeal mental disintegration of both her beloved parents over the course of 20 years.
Her dad Dennis lived with Alzheimer’s for more than a decade before dying from complications of it in 2012, aged 84. And now her mum Joan, 94, diagnosed eight years ago and living in a dementia care home near Ruth in Surrey, is enduring its depredations.
‘She’s always in good spirits though, always smiling,’ says Ruth.
‘She loves music and socialising – although she can’t remember anyone’s name.
‘She’ll say to people, “I haven’t seen Ruth for months” and it amuses me because she often comes to my house – which is just a stone’s throw away – and I’m always popping in to see her.
‘She’ll wave at me across the lounge and tell people, “That’s my daughter.”
‘Then she’ll say: “Oh, what a lovely surprise. How did you know I was here?” I play along and say, “A lady downstairs told me.”
‘I take her flowers, although she forgets instantly that I brought them.
‘You have to laugh, otherwise you’d cry. Acceptance is the hardest part, but I’ve learned that now.’
Ruth Langford pictured with her dad Dennis, who lived with Alzheimer’s for more than a decade before dying from complications of the disease in 2012, aged 84
Ruth, 65, anchor of the ITV talk show Loose Women, who presented ITV’s This Morning for 23 years with her then husband Eamonn Holmes, also admits: ‘I used to rail against Dad’s memory loss and confusion. Now I’m much softer and more accepting of Mum’s because I’ve learned so much from coping with Dad’s. I know now it absolutely wasn’t helping him when I’d say, “But you must remember that, Dad”. He’d look at me blankly because he literally did not.’
Ruth’s close-quarters experience – amplified by her parents’ double tragedy – led to her becoming an ambassador for the Alzheimer’s Society 17 years ago. Today, she and the charity are combining their passion and expertise to launch a joint crusade with the Daily Mail on Defeating Dementia, an initiative Ruth backs ‘wholeheartedly’.
The aim is to get people talking about dementia – of which Alzheimer’s is the most common form – and through discussion, promote better understanding of it and raise awareness of how to spot the symptoms, as well as ensuring those who are living with the condition and their carers know about the support available to them.
‘One in three people will develop dementia, which is the UK’s biggest killer,’ says Ruth. ‘It doesn’t get the funding it needs. Raising money for research into a cure is key.’
But early diagnosis is also vital, she says. ‘If just one person reads this and thinks: “Dad is doing some odd things. Maybe I’ll take him to the GP to get him checked”, I’ve done my job – because there is help available for managing symptoms and slowing them down.’
Ruth’s sister Julia died aged 62 in 2019, after suffering many years of depression. So while not Joan’s day-to-day carer, Ruth has sole responsibility for her mum.
She recognised long ago the quiet heroism of carers, not least because her mum looked after her dad at home for ten years before the severity of his symptoms finally defeated her.
‘He was getting up and dressed in the middle of the night,’ says Ruth. ‘It was like looking after a toddler. I said to Mum: “Dad wouldn’t want you making yourself ill. He needs 24/7 nursing now”.’
Ruth’s mum Joan, 94, (left) was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s eight years ago and is living in a dementia care home
She pauses, cries quietly, gathers herself and carries on. ‘Reluctantly Mum conceded he needed to go into a home.’
In fact, it was on This Morning, when Ruth was discussing dementia with a viewer whose husband had gone into respite care, that her customary professional composure deserted her and, unable to suppress her tears, she first spoke publicly about her dad’s Alzheimer’s.
‘After that, Alzheimer’s Society got in touch with me and said: “Does your mum need our help and support?” and I told them I thought she did – although Hell would have frozen over before she’d admit it.’
‘From here, Dad went to a day centre one morning a week, allowing Mum – who desperately needed a break – to go out and have her hair done or browse around charity shops (a favourite pastime) without worrying.’
Meanwhile, Ruth threw her efforts into fundraising for the charity and has since taken part in 15 Memory Walks organised annually in aid of those affected by dementia.
As Dennis’s behaviour became more erratic and demanding, Joan was gently persuaded that her own health was suffering and her beloved husband went into care full-time.
Ruth casts her mind back to the early days of her father’s illness, remembering how his orderly mind started to unravel.
Dennis, a warrant officer with the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, served in the military for 27 years: ‘He was an Army man through and through. Everything was labelled and had its proper place. He was very organised.
‘The changes were subtle to start with. He was a keen photographer and he started misplacing his camera. It was not on the shelf marked “camera equipment”. Mum found it in the shed.
‘Then he lost his slippers and Mum found them in the fridge. Dad denied putting them there.
‘At the time it was a funny story, but then we realised he was doing lots of things that were out of character.
Ruth has since taken part in 15 Memory Walks organised annually in aid of those affected by dementia
‘He took great pride in his personal appearance, shaved twice a day; clean shirt every morning – but he stopped having a shower and put on the shirt from the day before.
‘He’d also been a very out-going, impulsive man. He used to say to Mum: “It’s a lovely day, let’s jump in the car and go for a spin.”
‘Suddenly he stopped wanting to go out. He’d say he couldn’t be bothered.’
Joan, worried that Dennis could be suffering from depression, persuaded him to go to their GP who sent him for tests – which revealed Alzheimer’s.
‘We were all in the dark then,’ recalls Ruth. ‘We were just left with the diagnosis – so we tried to inform ourselves.
‘It soon became apparent that everyone’s symptoms differ; that while some people deteriorate quickly, Dad was living quite well with it, with Mum looking out for him and protecting him.’
He continued to enjoy the Daily Mail quick crossword: ‘Actually, he became obsessed with it. He’d wait, pacing by the door, every morning until the paper was delivered.
‘Now we know that puzzles and crosswords are good for the brain. At the time, Dad could do the crossword but he forgot what he’d had for breakfast that day.
‘In a sense, we were lucky we had him for so long, that he was always our gentle, music-loving Dad; never violent or difficult as some people with Alzheimer’s can be.’
Dennis himself did not even realise he had the disease until Joan took him to their solicitors to sign a power of attorney and the lawyer mentioned it.
Ruth recalls: ‘Dad flinched. Walking back to the car he said to Mum: “I haven’t got bloody Alzheimer’s.” Mum gently explained: “You know you get a bit forgetful?” Later his driving licence had to be taken away and he was absolutely devastated.
‘He said: “It’s disgraceful. I’ve never even had a parking ticket.” I’m afraid I lied to him. I said: “You’ve reached that age when everyone has to stop driving.” He was about 72.’
There is, too, a dichotomy about Alzheimer’s that Ruth finds tricky to resolve: ‘We wanted Dad to have dignity and respect but his behaviour became quite child-like and we didn’t want to be patronising.’
Ruth says she’s more ‘accepting’ of her mum’s Alzheimer’s having learned how to deal with her dad when he suffered from the disease
She cites an example. Her son Jack, now 23 but then a toddler, was playing with his wooden bricks; building them into a stack then knocking them down, ‘and Dad shouted at him: “Stop that. Stop it! You can’t do that!”
‘He didn’t understand that’s how kids play and we had to gently tell him not to shout.’
Finally Ruth’s parents moved closer to their daughters – Joan into a small bungalow, Dennis into another care home – settling near Julia, who then lived in West Sussex.
‘One of the hardest things for me was that although Dad always knew my mum, eventually he thought I was just a nice lady who popped by with a box of chocolates or biscuits.
‘He used to call me Rootie Tootie. Then one day I gave him a little kiss hello and he didn’t say my nickname any more. He also started thinking Julia, who looked like our mum, was Mum.’
Such memory loss is devastating and today Ruth takes comfort from the fact that, although Joan quickly forgets her daughter has visited, she still knows who Ruth is. There is solace in the obliteration from her mind of some tragedies, though. When her sister Julia died, Ruth gentlypersuaded Joan to move again to be closer to her. It was a transition she accepted equably.
Joan has now forgotten Julia’s passing, which Ruth recognises as a blessing. She does not correct the misapprehension when occasionally Joan refers to Julia as if she were still alive.
‘Mum and I were listening to some music the other day and Mum said: “Oh, I thought Julia would have come today, for the music.” I just felt sick,’ recalls Ruth.
‘For a split second I thought: “I mustn’t treat her like a child”, but her dementia is too far advanced, I knew it would have been a terrible trauma for her to be told that Julia had died. It would have been like learning it for the first time.
‘So I just said: “Oh, Julia is gardening today because it’s a lovely day,” which Mum accepted. Then I changed the subject, and asked Mum if she’d like a coffee.
‘I suppose I’d have to consider again what to say if she asked me directly if Julia had died. But she never has.
‘In much the same way, Joan will look at her watch and say, “Daddy’s a bit late home today,” and again my brain tells me, “Think before you speak,” and I’ll say, “Dad is on duty this weekend (he often had to stay at the Army camp), so he won’t be home,” and she’s satisfied with this answer.’
Joan was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s when Ruth was competing in Strictly Come Dancing in 2017: ‘She came to watch me with Julia and she said: “You know I’ve had the tests. I’ve got Alzheimer’s.” She said it as if she’d got a bit of a cough.
‘I thought: “Oh, not again.” At that point I felt it was so unfair. But now I think: “She could be in pain.” Often it’s harder for the family than for the person with dementia. Mum doesn’t realise she’s repeating herself every five minutes.
‘She’s not fully engaged with the present, but she loves reminiscing and talks a lot about the past. So I hear a lot about the war. The stories are a bit muddled, but her childhood is still a vivid memory.
‘She adores my dog Maggie and she’ll ask me: “How old is she?” so many times that inside I’m going “grrrr! grrrr!”. You have to have the patience of a saint.
‘I took Mum to the dentist the other day and when we got back I said: “Remember what the dentist said. Don’t eat that biscuit yet because of your filling.” And Mum said: “What dentist? What filling?” She forgets so quickly.’
Ruth laughs; midway between exasperation and genuine amusement. I wonder how she sees the value in visits that are so quickly obliterated from her mum’s memory: ‘You have to accept that she enjoys the moment, that I’m visiting as much for me as for Mum.
‘Even if your loved one doesn’t know who you are, you can check on them, make sure they’re happy and comfortable and have everything they need.’
In the corner of Ruth’s mind, there must be a fear that she could also develop Alzheimer’s – even though in the vast majority of cases (more than 99 in 100), the disease is not inherited.
I ask if she worries about it: ‘Of course, but I try not to dwell on it. If there was a cure for it, I’d have a test immediately. If you could take a tablet and not get it, I’d definitely have it. But because there isn’t, I almost don’t want to know right now.’
She is warm, chatty; eminently likeable. She counsels against feeling guilty if you cannot care for a family member full-time, often reminds herself that Joan would be bored and lonely if she were at home alone while Ruth was out at work.
On the day we speak – Ruth in her large, airy kitchen where Joan is habitually installed at the sink, peeling veg while she sings along to her favourite 1940s crooners – her mum is poorly with a chest infection.
Ruth notices a dip in her cognitive function after such illnesses, but the hope is Joan will be well enough to spend Christmas with Ruth and Jack.
If she cannot come to them, Ruth and Jack will go to her; flowers, chocolates and Maggie the dog in tow. Joan will invariably ask how old Maggie is. She may not even remember her grandson until she is prompted.
Indeed, by the next day, she will not even recall their visit.
But in that moment, she’ll have a ball.
