Poignant
Another of those poignant days..
Mum and dad moved in with us in 2016 after dad had fallen, incurring what became life-changing injuries. He had dementia by then. Along with mum we cared for dad until his dementia was judged ‘advanced’ and he had to move into care where he passed away. Almost immediately mums dementia became an issue until she was detained under the Mental Capacity Act and she moved into care in June of this year.
Dementia is a terminal disease. Unlike most other terminal illnesses, once you have a diagnosis, there is no treatment. No palliative care. The sufferer and the carers are on their own. Our social services teams are not resourced to
support families like ours.
It is a statement of the blindingly-obvious that being a carer turns your life upside down. It affects every thought and action. My sister and her husband shared the caring. Truth be told that it is the daughter who does the heavy lifting at these times. This was certainly true in our case. And even when shared, caring is 24/7/365. Relentless. Wearying. Unremitting in its demands.
Today we chose to have breakfast a bit later. Just toast. Then coffee. We had slept without an ear cocked.
Jill went out to plant bulb pots. I rounded shrubs and mounded leaves. I wasn’t alert for calls.
We defrosted soup for two and had it when we were ready. Then sat.
Onto planting bulbs in the orchard before teetering on a ladder picking apples. Clearing hay. Picking a big box of deliciously sweet Greensleeves apples. No time pressure. Finish when you finish.
No plan for when or what we were to have for evening meal…
We had, in rota with my sister and her husband spent alternate evenings with mum. Our evenings have now been given back to us.
The loss of a loved one is still raw. Mum is not gone. We visit regularly. She is frequently cross, distressed, confused, disorientated. Occasionally not unhappy.
But now that we know she is safe and being cared for, we can, once again, experience days like this..
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