Benny never really knew his Mormor Lena – not as we knew her.

He was born the same day as the first Covid lockdown was declared in England, so it was months before Lena got to hold her first grandchild.

That smile on her face! You can see how much it meant to Lena. She’d always loved children — especially the tiny ones she’d worked with at the pre-school all our years in Bahrain. She would have been a fabulous grandmother.

Would have been. If …

If dementia hadn’t got to her first. Already by Benny’s birth, the illness was far progressed. Lena no longer spoke. She couldn’t walk unaided. She found it hard to use her hands. She couldn’t hug Benny, as she would have loved to. And only a few months after this, her body just shut down completely. Hands, arms, legs — all disconnected from her brain.

It would have been easy for Benny to ignore Lena as he grew to toddlerhood. After all, what’s the point of an adult who doesn’t help you play with your toys, can’t lift you up and tickle you, and never gives you cookies?

But Benny never gave up on Mormor. OK, maybe he had more fun with the rest of us on his weekly visits. But he would always find time to sit with her. Maybe they’d watch TV together. Or he’d help to feed her, careful to keep little fingers away from those dangerous teeth. He loved to help me press the buttons on the ceiling hoist as we moved her from chair to bed. And sometimes they’d just chill.

Then suddenly, a couple of weeks ago and just as Benny was coming up to his 5th birthday, Mormor wasn’t there any more. Before the visit he’d been warned of course, by Mamma Josie. As he stomped past me in the hallway, I wondered how he was going to take it.

Like a man.

That’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.

He took one quick glance into Mormor’s room to confirm it was true — OK, she wasn’t there. And without the big hospital bed, her room looked empty. Without a word, he carried on into the house to find his favourite toy – the wooden Brio train set inherited from Uncle Edwin. He had an important announcement.

— Now I can build the track everywhere downstairs, into all the rooms.

The other day, Josie called me, worried that Benny was shutting Lena out of his life.

— If I say anything about her, he just runs away or gets angry and says he doesn’t want to hear. It’d make me so sad if he grows up without remembering anything about her.

But last night Josie WhatsApp-ed me to tell me what Benny said before sleep:

— Goodnight Mormor. I really wish I could see you and see how kind you were. And I wish I could see you walking. And I wish you could play football with me.

I really wish I could still play football with her too, Benny. And one day, we’ll talk about this picture of your Mormor, and I’ll explain how she was way better than Ronaldo.

Have you discovered The Marathon Years yet, the story of our adventures as Lena and I fought a decade-long battle to defy dementia? I’m publishing the first draft of the book here, in weekly instalments. Here’s the chapter listing. Enjoy!