Well, the process has started of me claiming Guardianship of my dad as both of us went to see a Solicitor armed with every document known to man. After going into the wrong office, I was directed to the one I should have turned up in which was a further 15 minutes drive. "That was quick!" dad commented. Not quite. Finally we got to where we should be and he wasn't allowed to be part of the interview. The receptionist said, "There's a café next door but one if he would like to go and have a coffee." Eh....I don't think so. I informed her that he has Dementia and would be grateful if she would make sure he didn't try to wander off while I was in the other room. She made a cup of tea for him and I disappeared...for 45 minutes! I didn't like that it took so long but I'm relieved to have taken the first step in getting the ball rolling as the end result can take as long as a year, perhaps longer. It's not just a financial issue. It's being able to make every single decision from what clothes he wears, what food he eats to where he will live in the future... It's not something I will entertain my thoughts with right now but I have to be realistic and consider if anything should happen to ME. What then would become of him?
My emotions have been sorely tested as the day progressed. It has been more than two weeks since my mother's cremation and I haven't heard a word about her ashes. I called the Funeral Directors who apologised for the delay. By tea time I'd been called to say they now had them in their office just waiting for me to collect...as soon as I feel fit to do so. For me it's not a case of feeling fit. How does anyone feel fit for this task? It's not 'click and collect' online shopping...but it sure feels like it.
I haven't mentioned it to my dad. I'm not being cruel. I'm trying to be considerate, of his feelings as much as my own. Until my dad mentions my mother's death or includes her in any day to day event then I won't be including her in conversations. I've said the occasional, "I wonder what my mother would make of this?" or "Do you think my mother would like this/that?" relating to the changes I've made in the home. My dad just doesn't answer as one would expect...because he isn't sure what I'm talking about. I don't question his confusion. I just acknowledge it and move on.
As I write this he is sitting beside me with his feet up watching....Columbo! This particular episode is pretty slapstick, set in London and includes British detectives with similar idiocies. I hear him tut-tut and he turns to me and asks, "Do you think someone is really that stupid?" I look at him square on and bat my eyes and tell him, "I'm saying nothing!"
I'm trying to think of other things I want to share and he's still going on, and although I write the words for you to understand, they aren't always as he says them...but they're what he meant. I am realising that as the days progress and we get later into the night, his speech slows down and words are either muddled or simply wrong...when he eventually finds them that is. But I don't interrupt, or finish his sentences. He does know when he's not making sense sometimes and will comment with, "Whit a load o' rubbish!" before starting over, and still may not be able to perfect his intended sentence. I find using a sweet term of endearment works to lighten his mood. Something along the lines of "ya daft buggar!"
Still watching Columbo, he says, "I wish they'd give me the script to write. I could do better than that rubbish. He's meant to be a polis man. Is anyone that stupid?" Haha! A fair wee rant right enough. It's not finished yet. There might be more to follow...
I took him out for lunch to make up for him sitting so long waiting on me today. Then I took him to buy new trousers...a size bigger than he has been wearing. In the short time I've been with him, his entire diet has had a leg up and tomorrow I hope when he gets the blood results from a few days ago they will show a great difference from those taken 8 weeks ago.
Back home again and it's the usual daily Easter egg hunt to find his slippers. I wasn't in the room when he put them away. They could be anywhere. I've never found them in the fridge...yet. You learn with Dementia, rule nothing out!
Another Columbo has just started. I won't be in my bed any time soon. My dad leaves the room to go to the bathroom. Already I am gauging the time and listening with one ear to hear if he makes his way directly back to the living room or does a detour around cupboards, drawers or the bedroom. Then I'd have to get up and casually move in his direction to investigate. Thankfully, he has returned to his seat beside me. Maybe he senses my tiredness tonight. Maybe a pig will fly!
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