Not done yet

Hey folks.  I'm in hospital right now with a heart beat that isn't playing the game.

Bear with me and I'll be back soon.

Lots of love

John

xxx

Never ending...

Yesterday was Wednesday.  The day when I drop dad off at his Day Centre in the morning and for the next 4+ hours I get some time to myself to do whatever I want to do, which by choice would most likely be a little window shop and coffee for one.  I swear to God that ever since I've taken over dad's care, everything that needs doing happens on a fricken Wednesday.  I can count on one hand all the days I've actually sat back and done hee haw just because I could...on a Wednesday.  So why should yesterday be any different.  A couple of days ago the car started to rattle.  I ventured out to the shopping centre where Dad and I did our usual thing...Post Office, coffee and cake, shopping for sparkly things (dad's favourite oh yes it is!)  On the way home, that little niggly noise coming from the back end of the car got louder and louder.  It didn't help that on the same day some idiot reversed his car into the front of mine knocking the number plate clean off.  No other damage was done to the car, but I was sorting dad's footplates on his wheelchair at the time and I can't get the worried look on his face out of my head.  He watched as the huge 4 x 4 kept rolling backwards like a giant mouth set to swallow up my little dinky toy of a car.  The man was as big as his 4 x 4 and sheepishly apologised.  What the f**k you bloody idiot.  As if I don't have enough to bother me today you absolute clown.  

"Don't worry about it," I say with a concentrated sweetness.  All thoughts of wanting to kick his arse swept aside as I repeatedly tell my dad that everything is fine.  No damage done.  No garage can fix my nerves!  I throw the number plate into the car and add it to the list of things to do...on Wednesday!  F@#% S#%* B*$@#&%!!!!

It was never in my plan to move in to my mother's house.  When she bought the little compact one bedroom abode, she moved away from West Calder where she had lived for most of her life and where I had been brought up and decided to change her surroundings completely.  I'm sure if she had waited for just a little longer that something would have become available in West Calder but as much as my mother accused me of being impulsive, it took one to know one.  There was none more impulsive (and regretful) than my mother.  I like to think that my impulsiveness has been tamed.  It has certainly been tested, so perhaps I've learned something...at last.

The little house has an enclosed front and back garden for which 'dug' is truly grateful...as am I, so when she starts playing 'chase the ankle' I simply open the door and close it behind her little fiery arse.  Let the neighbours enjoy her tantrums.

Getting used to the idea that this is now my forever home hasn't been easy.  I have yet to relax completely and act like I live here.  Not having a bedroom doesn't help as I constantly feel like I am on a sleep over.  But yesterday...Wednesday...I realised just how lucky I actually am when I had to go and get the car fixed.  I am so used to jumping in the car to do the smallest of errands.  I pass a garage every day when I'm on my way to the shops with my dad and also coming home.  It's less than 10 minutes walk to my front door.  There are now two supermarkets which are less than 5 minutes walk, set on the road leading to the Main Road which takes me to Bathgate in less than 20 minutes by car, and the motorway which takes me to Edinburgh in less than an hour.

I drove dad to his Centre which is just around the corner but too bumpy to walk with the wheelchair and with fierce weather yesterday, we rattled and rolled the car until I dropped him off then took the car to the garage.  Although I have no knowledge of cars, I let it be known that I didn't want to be having all kinds of work done on it that wasn't necessary.

"If you could just put a plaster on it and let me get from A to B I'd be very grateful!" I begged.

I left the car with them and the owner offered me a lift home.  If it hadn't been pouring with rain and blowing a gale I would have walked.  But those extra minutes at home would mean a lot.  The man said he recognised my face.  I explained my reasons for moving here and said that I was originally from West Calder.  It didn't enlighten him any, until I mentioned I used to have a cake shop on the Main Street.  Bingo!  I see more business in the future.

It took less than a few minutes to get me home, but in that time I learned that there is to be a Christmas Fayre at the Community Centre where I dropped dad earlier taking place on Saturday.  Santa Claus will visit for the kids....Santa being none other than the jolly man who gave me a lift home.  I've spent so much time couped up in the house without taking time to find out what there is around me.  I smiled as I came indoors...even at Poppy, who had protest peed on the kitchen floor!

I'd ordered my shopping online the previous day just in case I'd no car for some days.  I ordered much more than I would have bought had I gone to the shop myself.  When it arrived, I was thrilled to see the cupboards fill and the fridge with enough to keep us going for another week.  I'm thinking that this might be the way for me to go in future instead of struggling with the heavy bags on my own.  Trying to offload my dad and shopping and keeping him from trying to carry stuff and rummage around in bags as he bends down too far...it's all too much.  So yes...I'm thinking that in the long run I'll spend less on shopping if I do it this way and relieve myself of the impending heart attack that awaits me.

My car was fixed in a couple of hours.  I wrapped myself up and walked to the garage.  Yes....I WALKED!  Everything really is on the doorstep.  Am I finally starting to see this house as home?

I picked dad up as usual just after 2 p.m.  He was very quiet although he told me, "It's a good hospital to visit."  It's not a hospital dad but I'm glad you enjoyed the visit.

He was very quiet, and seemed very tired.  He started to fall asleep on the recliner but his head kept going off to the side.  I woke him up and led him to his bed to have a more comfortable snooze.

"I don't feel well," he said.

"You'll feel better after a rest," I said.  I didn't fuss, although I am aware of his lethargy.

After a couple of hours, dad came into the living room appearing to be more cheery.  I made him dinner, just a little pasta and tomato sauce.  He ate all of it and enjoyed it.  Within the hour he was rushing across the floor in an unnerving shuffle to the toilet to be sick.

This went on for another hour.  No sooner he sat down he was up again.  He was never actually sick but his feeling of nausea was overwhelming him.  All I could do was wait...and listen...to this poor wee man retching.  Every time he entered the living room he looked smaller.  I decided to lead him to his bedroom and get him into his pyjamas to settle for the night.  I left the bedside table light on low so that I could see him when I popped my head around the door later.

I didn't unfold the chair bed.  I stayed on the recliner still clothed, just in case he got up during the night and couldn't cope.  I decided that I would call the doctor if he got up more than once.

I watched Celebrity Jungle and gagged as I watched them do the eating challenge.  How revolting and stomach churning.  I'm glad my dad was already in bed.  It didn't put me off wading through a bag of chocolate caramels that dad won at Bingo today giving myself lock jaw in the process.  Having truly sickened myself and feeling guilty, I switched off the lights and lay my head back with dug making herself comfy on my legs.  

I lay awake most of the night waiting.  Of all the nights for dad to sleep right through!!  I'm not sure if my eyes closed at all but the fact that I saw Disney's Bambi jump over the recliner and stand as bold as brass in front of the kitchen door tells me otherwise.

Dad got up when I woke him this morning.  Although I checked on him regularly, the time was getting on and for him to still be asleep at 10 a.m. is unheard of. 

Still retching...pale as a ghost...the doctor is coming.  Keeping my fingers crossed that hospital isn't required but to be honest, I'm not optimistic.  Although this situation is typical for my dad at this time of year, somehow it's a bit more harrowing than usual.

"I don't know why I've got this," he says, pressing on his wee pot belly.

"It'll get sorted dad, don't worry,"  I reply...worrying.  😟        

Getting to know me...

Last week I have to admit that I was actually counting down the days until my dad went to respite for the weekend.  Nothing in the week had made it any more tiring than any other.  Perhaps it was knowing this would be my last precious time alone to do things just for myself until the end of January.  That's a lot of Columbo!

We spent our week as usual going back and forth to the shopping centre and picking up little bits and pieces for Christmas.  Sharing coffees and lunches and listening to him pass remarks on everyone who walked by:

"Look at the size of her/him!  Size of a hoose!"

"Skelp it's erse!"  (translate:  slap it's bottom to the poor parents of small children who were screaming, crying and acting out in public)

"No watchin' where they're bliddy goin!" to those who walk towards his chair with their noses in their mobile phones and almost land on dad's lap.

These are only a few quotes.  I should really keep a notebook in my bag to write things down but I'd probably have writers cramp at the end of the day.

Dad is going to be 90 in January.  The weather will play a part in where I take him if in fact we venture out at all.  He knows he's getting on a bit but will often ask, "What age am I again?"

We watched a 92 year old man on the Michael MacIntyre show last weekend.  He was belting out the song "My Way."

"I hope I can sing like that when I'm 10 to 2," dad said.  I knew what he meant.  It just came out wrong.  More and more he starts to tell me something and the words fail him.  He gets more frustrated about it than I do.  It's a shame.

Medication and me are getting on famously.  My eyes are wide even when I feel quite tired.  My mood is lighter and I seem to have developed a stronger will and determination.  Things that may have bothered me to a ridiculous degree no longer seem to affect my being...and that is a great feeling.  I have less pain in my lower body but my hands continue to give me problems.  Mornings are the worst but night time is almost as bad as my body gets into a relaxed mode, it tenses and tightens and there's nothing I can do to alleviate the pain and discomfort.  But there IS a difference so I'll hang on to that and hope that one day it will disappear and I'll be back to being the me that I deserve to be.

Alcohol is no longer a feature in my life at the moment.  It is the biggest and probably the worst depressant around.  My Prosecco bottle had almost become my comfort blanket in the past year...perhaps two if I'm honest.  The easiest way to switch things off is to drown yourself in bubbles but the alter ego it creates only masks the hurt and emotions held within.  I have never felt so refreshed in a looooooong time.  Facing all my fears and worries and reaching a sane and sober conclusion is more important now than ever.  I matter.  I really do.

I matter...to me.

On Saturday I had a wonderful day.  I spent most of it with Paul's mum, Jackie.  I have so many fabulous photos of Paul from way back.  School days, holidays and respite weekends.  My family surrounding him with love and him providing us with much humour and an insight to his life that I will treasure forever.  I shared the photos with Jackie and Paul's dad, Ralph and brother Sam.  Jackie had her own photos to share with me too and as we sat sifting through them, we recalled so much and laughed more than we cried.  In fact, I don't think a single tear was shed that day at all...except with laughter.

Jackie and I went off to spend some time at the famous Gyle shopping centre.  Paul and I frequented the place so often that I feel a statue of him should be created in his honour!  We had lunch and talked and talked...and talked some more.  How sad it was to be sitting there without our boy, but how good it was to talk about everything about him.  The good times, the bad and sad times leading to his passing.  Jackie's dad also has dementia.  We spoke about both our dads and as I shared stories with her about mine we would often stop to laugh out loud.  Even in the darkest times, a sense of humour will always pull you through.

It was already dark when I left Jackie and Ralph to their evening.  I am still getting used to the fact that I don't have to be home by a certain time or live by the clock.  Instead of going straight home I stopped by a bargain store to look at all the Christmas decorations and lights.  I bought another little twinkly thing to delight my dad when he came home from respite.  He thinks I'm daft.

I think I'm amazing!  😁

Dad's home from respite and settled back into his recliner.  So far I've managed to avoid Columbo but we've watched White Christmas at least once a day.  He likes the songs and joins in with a hint of impersonation of Bing Crosby.  I should try and video him doing it....it's worth a watch.

"Take a deep breath.  It's just a bad day, not a bad life."

Yeah, whatever...

Yesterday I took the advice of my doctor and contacted Cruse Bereavement Care Scotland.  I wasn't quite sure how much to say or what not to say so instead I sent a link to my previous post on this blog and hoped that it would explain better than I could in a few words.  I started off by telling them first of all that it was my GP who insisted that I should contact them "as a matter of urgency" he said, although I didn't reiterate that.  I sent my e-mail along with my telephone number as requested on their site so that they could contact me.  However, it seems there was little to discuss as they sent their reply by e-mail...

Thank you for your email.

I’m so sorry to hear about the struggles you are having. We only offer support to people who are bereaved following a death. Is it support following your mum and Paul’s death you are looking for or support to deal with the loss of your dad? I wonder if Altziemer Scotland might be of support? 

...and I wonder if they read my post at all.  They signed off at that and I immediately sank into my chair, deflated and pissed off.  I hadn't realised  that I had to choose one or the other.  I don't need advice on how to look after my dad's mental health.  If anything, it's my understanding of him that keeps him going from strength to strength.  It's always going to be sad that I'm not known to him as his daughter but no matter how many times it causes me to shed a tear, I can't change it.  I know this.  I'm as fine as I can ever be with it.  So thanks Cruse Bereavement Care, I think I've got this.  Sorry to have bothered you.

I took my dad out for coffee and cake and we ventured around Asda with the shopping trolley attached to his chair.  I hadn't thought of using the trolleys  for disabled people before and it was great.  Dad was in his element with the feeling that he was helping.
Back in the car, we listened to the radio on the way home.
"I'd like a request please for my friend (X) who is getting married on ....."
"Don't do it!" I joked.  "There's still time to change your mind!"
Dad laughed then said, "It never did you any harm."
"What didn't?" I asked.
"Being married," he replied.
With more than one divorce under my belt I knew immediately where this conversation was going.
"I'm not married any more dad," I said.  He looked blankly ahead.  "You were married for 63 years though." I continued.  "That's a long time to suffer!"
He laughed.  "Aye, so I am."  Am....not was.  "WE!" he corrected himself.  "What am I saying....I.  I mean WE."  He looked at me and smiled.
I smiled back, then said as gentle as I could.  "We're not married dad.  I'm your daughter, Lorraine.  You were married to my mother...Anne."
He looked bewildered with a slight smile on his face...unsure and confused but accepting in a sense what I was saying even though it wasn't what he expected to hear.
"My mother isn't here anymore dad, but I am," I said.  Trying to make light of it I carried on, "At least you don't get nagged every day.  You're a bit spoiled now I think.  Don't you?"
"Aye!" he said, brightening up a bit.  "Aye, I couldn't ask for anything more.  It's a great life right enough."
We went home and he settled into his recliner with Columbo for the fkn millionth time on the telly.  I didn't complain, and he was happy.

By tomorrow I'll be his wife again.  Oh well...

Trying to take time for myself isn't as easy as people think.  I can't pick and choose my dates so readily.  If something comes up that I would like to attend with specific dates already decided, I can't put myself forward until I can ensure my dad can go to respite.  I booked myself a little getaway for March for my eldest grandson and I to have some bonding time.  I am also throwing myself back into the sugar world as much as I am able and starting with regaining my title as an Accredited Demonstrator for the British Sugarcraft Guild.  I was excited to think that I could go to the seminar in April and be accredited before the end of next year.  But I couldn't get the respite cover I needed for any of the dates required so I am waiting to know if I can escape in May with my grandson instead.  The next seminar is in September, 2019.  Another year gone...but I can wait.  I won't give up.  I'll be there.

Dad is going to respite this weekend as it happens.  More than anything, I need to sleep.  Just one night where I am not wakened by his bathroom shuffle and a day where I can stay in my pj's without a care in the world!

This morning I went to the kitchen and saw that Poppy (dug) had left a parcel shit on the floor.  She was out late enough last night for this not to be so but accidents happen.  She can accredit medication for this laid back reaction.  Ordinarily her arse would be kicked to the moon and back.  I cleaned it up as she looked on with a bowed head.  No treats today dug!

It's raining hard but we're heading out.  Staying indoors all day isn't good and I need some fresh air.  I hope Poppy will be okay while we're out.  I didn't push the cork in too far....

Have a good one! x

Too much too soon.

My dad is usually awake and out of bed before 8.30 a.m. so when he still hadn't come into the living room by quarter to 10, I thought I'd better go and check on him.  I kept 'dug' out of the way so she wouldn't jump on top of him and give him a fright.
I knocked the door gently before entering his room.
"Dad, are you awake?"  I asked.
"What?" a muffled sound came back.  "Aye," he continued.  "I was up at 9 o'clock.  I'm going to get ready for the dancing."
"Are you?" I said.  "Well I'll put on some music and you can shimmy your way into the shower."
He laughed, his voice a bit hoarse from being woken up and not quite ready for the day ahead.  It's no surprise that his confusion was already heightened.  I had brought him home from his regular respite Care Home late the day before after leaving him there for one night to allow me to attend a very special funeral.

In the last few weeks it has become crystal clear that looking after my dad 24/7 has had an adverse affect on me that I didn't see coming.  It's not the physical looking after him although that has also been impacted but will get better and back to normal again over time.
During my mother's illness, my dad had no clue what was going on or what was about to happen.  Even when I explained to him that she wouldn't be coming home from the hospital, the news was met with "oh well...these things happen."
I would visit my mother with him and as soon as we left the hospital it was like we'd never been and she didn't exist...for my dad.  I went about daily life with him, keeping him happy, making jokes and taking care of all his needs.  Keeping him calm and beyond all, protected.  But in the background I kept my own thoughts very much inside.
It was during this period that I noticed my hands becoming increasingly painful.  This was followed by pains in my knees.  I didn't do anything about it, thinking it was just the strain of doing too much and not taking time to rest, but how could I.  After my mother's death, the pains worsened and started to become more of a problem.  It wasn't just my joints any more.  It was everywhere.  My sleep is interrupted every night with my dad going back and forth to the toilet so to have this additional annoyance was leaving me drained beyond belief.  But dad would get up the next morning and come into the living room which was already back to normal with the bed chair tidied away and ask his usual question, "Did you sleep well?"  To which I'd reply "Yes dad.  I did."
He'd further offer "I had a great sleep."
Punch me why don't you!

My emotions have been all over the place.  I sit with dad while he watches TV and I mess around on my laptop and I'll glance over at him, watching him lay out his snotty hanky on the arm of the chair to "dry it out".  I know...
His little ways (apart from those gross in nature) can set me off and I leave the room to stop myself crying in front of him.  I can be making dinner or doing dishes and some little thing will come into my head and I'm fighting tears.  The weight on my chest has gotten worse and I feel like I'm in a constant choke hold.  My whole body feels like it has been stomped on.  The extra pounds I've gained aren't helping.

For 19 years I've cared for a young man with complex special needs.  Those of you who keep up with me on Facebook will already know this as I've shared our story over the years as he was very much a part of not only my life, but my family's also.  He was never a 'job' for me.  Paul was my wee treasure who absolutely idolised me.  I could do no wrong in his eyes.  Paul would go to respite once a month and on those days I would be with him.  When my mother was taken into hospital, I was due to be with Paul soon after but my situation meant that my work had to be put on hold...permanently.  This included my time with Paul.  As it happened, Paul was also poorly at this time and was taken into hospital.  He did get home eventually but things weren't going well.  Despite all of this, his mother would call me often to make sure that I was okay.
My mother passed and it was business as usual for dad and me.  I vacated my rented home and moved in with my dad, dragging him along with me in the process.  Keeping the stress of it all to myself.  Reminding him occasionally that I'm not his wife but his daughter.

Life just went on from there with hidden tears, aches and pains, solicitors and stress.  Then came the devastating news that Paul was back in hospital only this time there was nothing more they could do.  It was too much.  I remember I was dressing my dad at the time when his mother called.  After hearing this I carried on helping dad with his socks and making jokes.  Later that morning I went to see Paul in hospital.  He was asleep and sedated, but I took his wee hand and put my mouth to his ear and said, "Paul....it's Aine!"
He opened his eyes and beamed a smile.  My heart breaking, I smiled for him and told him I loved him...as if he didn't already know.
Leaving the hospital that day, I started to cry and the tears just wouldn't stop.  Uncontrollable in a controlled silence.  Sitting behind my dad in the car to go home, I buried my face in tissues to stifle the noise.
Home again..."Cup of tea dad?"  I ask.  "I don't mind if I do." he replies.

Paul was able to spend his final days at home with his family.  I visited two more times on a Wednesday when my dad went to his Day Centre.  On my first visit, Paul was smiling and awake although very weak and not the little man I was used to seeing at all.  But he put on a petted lip as he signed to let me know he'd been in hospital and had been given injections.
"I know Paul...don't worry.  I'll kick their arse!"
The following Wednesday when I visited I was met with a very different scene.  Paul was asleep with a little furrowed brow.  Not able to shout out his usual response "Puck aw!"  Figure that one out for yourselves.  I'm sure if speech bubbles were real it would have been up there above his head in bold letters.  I hoped I would see him again.  I didn't want to say good-bye.  I left saying "see you next week Paul."
I went to Birmingham that weekend to Cake International at the NEC.  On Sunday morning the unwanted call came.  Paul had passed away at 4 a.m.  My daughter Vicky was with me in the hotel room with the kiddies and my dad.  Once again, the tears were controlled.  We had to get on with this day and make the best of it.  My time with my daughter and grandchildren are precious at the best of times but this time more than ever.  Feeling so lethargic and uninterested in the day ahead, we carried on.  The wee ones were playing and having fun.  Charlie, my grandson, was toddling around and giggling.  Jessica gave me a big hug and I commented, "My wee bairns, (my little children) what would I do without you."
My dad who was sitting on the edge of the bed watching and listening said, "You've still got me!"
Vicky and I looked at each other with her saying, "Well that's something for your blog!"  We smiled.

It was almost two weeks before Paul's funeral took place.  During that time, the build up of emotions were greater than before.  As the funeral drew nearer, I began to wonder how I was going to hold myself together.  Dad and I had a doctor's appointment the day before, both of us getting the results of our blood tests.  The second lot for me.  Previous tests for rheumatoid arthritis came back with a negative result, as did an x-ray of my hands.  Dad is thriving and better than he's ever been.  I led him back to the waiting room while I discussed my own results, but I also had to get some other things off my chest.
My latest blood results also came back negative.  Although relieved, I felt like I was going off my head and told the doctor so.  He asked me if I'd heard of Fibromyalgia.  I said I had but didn't know too much about it.  He went on to explain and I listened.  Then I told him that I had something else that I needed to address...my emotional state.  I started to tell him how I was feeling but it all came out backwards.  I told him I had Paul's funeral the next day and I didn't know how I was going to get through it and not show emotion.  This puzzled him as to why I felt I couldn't.  It's not quite how I meant to say it but everything I was feeling got muddled and I began to cry...in front of him.
With my head in my hands I told him that since the death of my mother it was almost like "okay then, that's over...business as usual." and now Paul.  Was it going to be the same?  He's gone so let's just get on with it?  I told him that I felt stifled, unable to show emotion around my dad.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because he already doesn't recognise my mother in recent photographs and thinks I'm his wife.  Picking up his wedding photo telling me how good we look.  I've had to put the photo in a drawer.  How can I keep reminding him that she's dead.  His happy state of mind and health is more important." I replied.
I explained that Paul was such a huge part of all of our lives but I wouldn't be sharing the sad news with my dad because I know he wouldn't remember.  But how can I forget?  Or more to the point, how can I remember and not react.  I told the doctor that the physical looking after my dad is not an issue, but I am finding that my mental state is very much out of control.
"Did you know that Fibromyalgia can be brought on by extreme stress and anxiety?" he asked.
I didn't know.  It seems that all this bottling up and pretense is showing itself in a debilitating fashion just to give me a swift kick up the arse.
He told me that the adjustment to life as it is without my mother and taking care of my dad is a major thing and I should seek the help of Bereavement Counselling as a matter or urgency.  He also put me on an anti depressant which is also given to those with Fibromyalgia and in time my body AND my mind should get back to some kind of normality.  This isn't me.  This isn't how it's going to be forever.  But I am finally taking the help that I need and intend to surround myself with positivity.

Four days later and I am already feeling a little brighter.  I am making changes to this house that is now my forever home.  Painting walls with brighter colours although it takes me longer to do it than before...I'm in no hurry.
I took dad to buy some sparkling Christmas ornaments which absolutely delights him.  We've switched them on already.  Why not.  It's never to early to sparkle.
I parked dad in his chair near the car park but kept him indoors as I hurried to the car to offload some bags.  When I returned he said, "I nearly got a click there."
"Did you?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.  "This woman walked up to me and asked if I was okay.  I told her I was just waiting for my wife."
Christ dad, you'll have a long wait!
"Did you dad," I said.  "You should have told her you were waiting on your daughter.  I'm not your wife dad."
He almost looked embarrassed and said "Ah ken!"  (I know)

Waiting in the queue to pay for goods, an assistant opened up another till and called out "Next here please."
I remained where I was with dad because we were already in the wider aisle that catered for wheelchairs.  Unaware of this, my dad began to wave a pointed finger towards the empty aisle and turned to me saying "Anne!" My mother's name.
I didn't correct him on this.  I simply said "I need this aisle for your chair dad.  It's okay."

To others it's endearing, sweet, sad but not so bad.  It is of course all of these things.  My dad is as happy as a pig in shi  muck living on his own planet with me by his side.

For me, I haven't just lost my mother and Paul.  I have also lost my dad.  With a little help along the way, I will make sure I don't lose myself too.

Life goes on.  I cannot bear the weight of grief and I will find the outlet I need for me to make things easier.  It has only been a few days with a little medicated assistance but I already feel that better things are yet to come.

"And in the end, all I learned was how to be strong alone."

 

Time to reflect

I feel that I have abandoned my blog.  There is so much to write but even I am struggling to put into words what needs to be said.

I left you with dad and I going off to Cake International at the NEC, Birmingham.  Another chance to be somewhere else other than home with dad and see how he...and I...coped.  But I also went off with the knowledge that my little sidekick, Paul, was seriously ill.  Sadly, he passed away on Sunday 4th November.

This blog is not the place to tell you all about Paul and what he meant to me and my family, but I will do so when I am ready and I will offer a link for anyone who wishes to know more.

What is relevant to this blog is the masking of emotions when living with someone who has dementia.  Having no outlet when dealing with devastating news....the death of my mother just over 3 months ago and now Paul who was part of all of our lives for almost 19 years.  Every day has to go on regardless, as long as my dad is settled and well.  It's all that matters.

But it isn't.

I need to take a little time out before I can write what I need to say.  Good or bad, I'll say it like it is as I always do.

Paul's funeral is on Friday 16th November.  I am going to take a break from writing until it is all over and take time to reflect, review and renew.

Thank you so much to everyone who follows this crazy life of mine.

I know I am not alone and I will continue to share my journey as soon as I evict the box of frogs jumping around in my head.

You will always be in my heart Paul Campbell.

Always.