As the year ends..

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring...except for me who was still fighting with cellotape and wrapping paper.  I signed all the stickers on dad's presents "To Dad, Love Santa."

I left my own little pile at the side of the chair and waited til morning...glass (or two) of Prosecco in each hand which only highlighted in my mind this year which can only be described as my annus horribilis (which is Latin for pain in the arse I believe).  If it's good enough for the Queen, it's good enough for me!

As I sat watching (again) the DVD of my parents 50th Anniversary party, wishing I could turn back the clock, I realised it was time to ditch the bubbles for coffee...and get a grip!

Christmas jumpers laid out along with a Santa hat for dad and a set of antlers with flashing lights for me, I had time to have my breakfast in peace while watching Ree Drummond rustle up bread rolls, soups and stews effortlessly before dad shuffled through the door.

"Good morning!" he beamed.

"Merry Christmas Dad!  Santa has been," I said, leading him to his chair.  I fetched his breakfast cereal and laid it on the table beside his recliner along with a cup of tea.

Quite baffled by the presents awaiting him, he sat down.  "Dear oh dear," he chuckled.  I sat on the floor in front of him as he unwrapped them one by one.

I caved in and bought him Season 4 of Columbo.  Peter Falk's image emblazoned across the front.

"A book!" he said.

"No dad, it's movies," I said.

He opened the next one.  A huge bag of assorted Walkers crisps containing all his favourite flavours.

"What is it?" he asked.

*I don't know why the next section highlighted itself.  I've tried to sort it out but am at the point where laptop meets the road outside via the window.  So I'll apologise...and leave it!*

As he continued to open his gifts, revealing a new jumper, shirt, slippers, after shave and nuts (which is ironically appropriate)...I began to open mine.

"Oh what a surprise!" I exclaimed, revealing the onesie and fluffy socks I'd bought myself some weeks ago.  Dad's attention was already lost to his cereal and Ree Drummond's baps.  I suddenly lost my enthusiasm for opening gifts I already knew the contents of.  Without intention of feeling flat that particular day, it crept upon me regardless.

Picking up my mood, I tidied up a little and got dad washed and dressed.  I knew the day would belong to Columbo.  Being a new series and watching it for the first time in years, I sat with my feet up alongside dad on the recliner and actually enjoyed it.  One movie after the other, and other....and....other.  Perhaps the copious amounts of Quality Street and crisps that were consumed during this period helped.  Who knows.  I survived didn't I?

Dad went off for his usual nap which left me to nod off also.  I'm still sleep deprived and dreaming up a storm despite the fact my dad isn't getting up as often during the night.  Somewhere down the line this pattern will settle.  I can wait.

Christmas night, I set dad's pyjamas on his bed and left his bedside lamp on low.  He didn't eat much of his dinner.  I didn't bother with turkey this year.  Instead I opted for chicken fillets.  I threw them into an oven dish and cooked along with a few pigs in blankets.  I added a simple gravy made from granules at the end to let it soak into the meat in the hope that it would be tender enough for dad to eat it.  I sliced his into pieces and laid everything nicely on his plate.  One little sausage, one roast potato and a scoop of mashed potato and veg.  A bird sized portion although there was a bit more variety on his plate than usual which I already knew would confuse him but I served it up anyway.  I watched as he played around with the bits on his plate.  Stopping occasionally, throwing his head back and blowing loudly.  I ignored him and carried on with my own.  He barely touched the chicken.  Didn't eat the sausage or roast potato.  In fact, the plate looked pretty much the same when I took it away from him as it did when I laid it out on his tray.  He had room later for a little trifle which always amuses me!

He made his way off to bed quite early in the evening.  I have always allowed him to get ready for bed himself, telling him as he makes his way to his bedroom to sit on the edge of his bed to get changed.

"Aye, okay hen," he'll say.

He folds everything that he removes and places it at the bottom of the bed on top of an ottoman.  I go into his room in the morning and throw most of it into the laundry basket but I let him go through these motions so that he feels he is doing something for himself and not to have me always fussing.

I went to the kitchen to start washing up the dishes.  I wasn't in there 2 minutes before I heard a clatter which had Poppy barking her head off and bouncing around like Tigger on steroids.

I ran to the room to find my dad with his jumper pulled up almost, but not quite, over his head and his back against a chest of drawers to which he was holding on to with both hands stretched behind him.  I knew he had fallen backwards and was just thankful that he had his back to the furniture when he stumbled.  He was okay.  Just a bit shaken, but that's it.  No more getting ready for bed on his own.  The only thing I don't have to do for him (yet) is take him to the toilet.

I did have a word with him about his latest meal time habits.  Not eating much of the little I put in front of him but demolishing crisps and biscuits no problem.  I tried to tell him that he needs all the goodness from real food so that he doesn't stumble so much.

"You're right hen," he said.  But I'll keep reminding him when he asks me "Is there any crisps?" tomorrow...and the next....and....the next.

Bit by bit his independence is leaving him.  Making sure he is alright with that will forever be my task.

........................................

Yesterday, dad woke up in a bit of a funny mood.  I watched him although I tried not to give him too much eye contact.  We made our way to the bathroom for his daily wash.  While he stood holding on to the sink, he started once again with the 'dizzy' spell.  Not before checking behind him first that I was within 'falling' distance.  I moved back at bit, folding a towel.  Far enough away from him to know that his actions were pointless but close enough to reach an arm out should it really be necessary.  I put the towel onto the toilet seat and told him to sit down and keep his head up.  All the while he was puffing and blowing, with an occasional "oh dear" thrown in, I carried on with putting his vest on and saying "tickle-ickle" in a stupid voice while applying his deodorant.  He wasn't amused.

He made his way to the bedroom on his own while I walked a few steps behind without issue.  He sat on the edge of the bed while I dressed his top half.  With his bottom half pulled up at half mast, he made to stand up in order to complete the task.  His backside was barely off the bed when he reeled (himself) backwards, calling out, "Oh!...OH!"

"DAD THAT'S ENOUGH NOW!" I said sternly.  "You're absolutely fine.  Keep your head up and stand up tall."

It's like dealing with a child.  But up he stood, allowing me to finish sorting his clothes before he led himself to the mirror to shave.  No issues.  No more drama.

Theatrics over!

He made his way to his recliner where I set out a cup of tea and a bag of crisps before going in search of a brick wall to bash my head off.

He was FINE.

It's bad enough when his moments of illness are real, but when it's hyped up for effect it has me questioning myself.  "Am I not giving him enough attention?"  "What more should I be doing?"  "Where am I going wrong?"

The thoughts don't last long because I know I'm doing all that I can and no more than I am able.  But the necessity to be stern isn't pleasant.  Thankfully these moments are few.  Let's hope it stays that way.

.......................................

I've already put away the Christmas cards and reluctantly leave the sparkling lights until the first day of January.  I have no intention of staying up to see the old year out and the new one in.  Dad will be in his bed at his usual hour and I will be switching off my phone and putting the lights out well before midnight.  I'll know when it's all over when I hear some eejit in the street blast off fireworks I'm sure.  The first of January is the day I'll be baking and creating in order to get a cake delivered for the 4th.  That's all.

This year has shown me exactly what loss means.  Nobody can tell you unless they have gone through it and no two experiences will be the same.  Instead of being sad I will find ways in which to better handle my melancholy.  I won't always feel bitter and hard done by.  Everything is a learning curve.  Some of us just need to hold on a little tighter getting through the twists and turns, but what the hell.

"Don't lose yourself trying to be everything to everyone"

I did my best Mother.  I'm still trying to get it right...and I will.  You'll see.