Dad's long awaited 90th birthday finally arrived on the 15th January. He shuffled into the living room as usual with a cheery smile.
"Good morning dad!" I said, ushering him towards his recliner before he began to reach down towards an over excited 'dug' who was desperately trying to land her squeaky toy on top of his moving slipper.
A few cards had arrived in the post. As I brought dad a cup of tea I asked,
"Do you know what day it is today dad?"
He replied immediately, "It's my birthday." 😮
"YES!" I said. "Look what came in the post for you," I continued, handing him the cards.
I placed my card at the bottom of the pile so it would be the last one he'd open as it contained a £20 note.
I read each card for him and told him how nice it was to receive them. He removed his glasses to wipe his eyes with a tissue. I wasn't sure if he was wiping away a tear or if he was simply doing what he normally does in the mornings once he's sat for a short while and before he has his daily wash.
Finally he opened my card and out fell the £20 note.
"Oh!" he said. "That was awful good of him." 🙈
"Who is it from dad," I asked.
He read it again. "Lorraine," he answered.
"Who is Lorraine?" I asked, closing the card to show DAD on the front.
"My daughter," he answered.
"That's right. Where is she dad? Do you know?" I asked.
He looked at me puzzled then answered, "No. I don't." Looking back at the card and running his finger over my name he continued, "I'm trying to think but I don't know where she is."
"I'm here dad!" I said, showing him a beaming smile which masked as always my feelings inside.
"I'm Lorraine dad."
He threw his head back and said, "What a silly buggar! Imagine not remembering that. How stupid."
"Not stupid dad," I said. "Just forgetful. That's why I'm here to keep you right."
My plan for the day was to take dad to see the movie 'Stand and Ollie'. The showing I chose was 12.45 p.m. but as he kept nodding off around 11.30 a.m. I quickly realised that he would need to nap and eat lunch before venturing out so I opted for plan B which was a 2.15 p.m. show. I made the mistake of showering dad that morning which always takes a little bit more out of him and tends to make him a wee bit more tired throughout the day. I've reduced his showers to every 3rd day. It's not like he's running a marathon and burning up a sweat so giving him a body wash at the sink takes much less effort...for him, not me. I have to be aware of his hands reaching for the plug emptying the sink before I'm finished or more annoying, before I've started. I should have just put off his shower for one more day but it seemed the right thing to do to get him all freshened up from the inside and out on this, his special day.
By the time dad woke up and had lunch, he sat relaxing and nodded off once more. I decided to postpone the cinema for various reasons. His stomach (or lack of) plays up more often as the afternoon slowly turns into night. Unless I top dad up with Imodium, taking him out soon after a meal or snack can interupt any venture I've cared to enter into. Our daily visits to the coffee shop are carefully timed so that he is home safely where he has the familiarity of his own bathroom and me readily at hand should I be required. Although he has only had one major 'accident' I would hate for him to go through this in a public place. It is always safer to take dad out for a meal and return home immediately after as opposed to feeding him and taking him out.
Plan C was now our final option.
Dad had stuffed his £20 into his trouser pocket.
"Let's go out and spend your birthday money dad. Buy yourself a nice treat," I said. "Then I'll take you out for dinner and a wee half pint of lager."
"That's a great idea," he said, almost propelling himself off the recliner to get his jacket. I didn't chastise him for hurrying. Not today. I hooked my arm as he held on and led him to his jacket.
"Have you got your money dad?" I asked.
As he fumbled around his jacket looking for it, I reached into his trouser pocket to retrieve it among the scrunched up paper tissues.
"How did it get there?" he asked.
"It must have sneaked in when you weren't looking," I laughed. "I'll keep it safe."
"Very good!" he said, and off we went to the shopping centre.
We already had a conversation in the car about the things my dad likes to do best. TV Detectives being top of the list, I decided to take him to the HMV store and seek out some new ones...perhaps. I pointed out box sets of 'Midsomer Murders', 'Poirot' and anyone else I thought he might enjoy, blatantly avoiding the gaze of 'Columbo' on the shelf before me. Dad wasn't so blatant. I couldn't ignore his face as he looked toward the shambling Detective in the rumpled overcoat. Picking a DVD off the shelf, I checked to see if it was a series that he already owned.
"What's in that one?" he asked, pointing to the Complete Set.
Oh God, please help me....nooooooo!
"It's ALL of them dad. Every episode of Columbo," I said, crossing my fingers behind my back knowing it doesn't work but regressing on the spot to my childhood belief that it would.
"I'll have that!" he said....BEAMING!
He fumbled once again for his £20 which I reminded him that I'd taken for safe keeping. I had two options staring me in the face.
1. Tell him that he didn't have enough money to buy the full set.
2. Say nothing, put another £20 towards the purchase and increase my prescription for valium!
35 DVD's later, we made our way to the 'Limekiln' in Livingston where dad enjoyed chicken nuggets and chips washed down with a half pint of lager. 😉
..............................................
Prior to dinner, I decided to check the Bank balance of the account used for paying the bills just to make sure things were ticking over and monies were going in and out as required. The Bank accounts are still my dads and until I have legal Guardianship, his Bank won't entertain any instruction from me alone which has not only made things impractical but at times frustrating. Although my dad doesn't understand the 'business' side of our union, I always involve him in the day to day running of the household. Every week on the same day we visit the Post Office to collect his pension and go food shopping. Every week I'll say "That's it once again dad. We've managed to tick over for another week."
"You're managing great hen," he'll respond.
His appraisal is good enough for me.
Dad's council tax has been reduced due to his dementia. Instead of monthly payments of £50+, the Council have taken 4 payments of £100 since the end of last year and now they won't take any more until the end of this year. That means that for the last 4 months, an additional £50 has been taken from the bills account. Knowing that this will recoup itself over the next few months, I was still a little uncomfortable with the balance and told dad that we were going to the Bank just to top it up a little so that I wouldn't need to bother looking at it again until I have control of the accounts. I have dad's bank card and he wouldn't have a clue about pin numbers and taking money from a machine. But I wasn't taking money from this account. I wanted money transferred from his savings account which has little pensions going in monthly, topping it up until some excess can be transferred to use as required. So far dad and I are managing just fine on his weekly pension. My pittance of a care payment goes into my own account and I forget about it until birthdays come along. It's important for me to be able to use my own money for certain things. There's no room for pride at times. I wish I'd been a little bit financially smarter in my life, especially when my marriage ended. But I wasn't. Too bad. Move on.
I told dad that we needed to transfer £300 just to be cautious and he nodded in agreement and told me to do whatever I needed to do. As we waited in the Bank queue, the teller called "next here please". Dad turned to me, pointing me in the direction of the teller saying, "Anne...over there."
I ignored the fact he'd just called me by my mother's name and stood in front of the teller saying that my dad wanted to transfer £300 from his savings account into the account of the bank card I was holding. She didn't smile. Instead she looked at me and then my dad...then back at me before stating that she would have to turn the little pin number machine around to face my dad so he could reach it to insert the card.
"He's not taking money from this account," I said. "He wants to put money in. He usually signs a slip."
"I still have to get him to put the card in the machine," she said. No you don't...but I know where you're going with this lady.
"He doesn't know his pin number for this account. I do it for him," I said. "I'm in mid Guardianship for my dad and care for him full time."
"Well we're a Bank and we can't let you put the number in", she said. I'm not an idiot. I already know this which is why I wasn't asking to take money OUT of the damn account. But don't you think that I already know that you're thinking I'll have money transferred into this account that I have access to outside of your precious Bank and I'll go outside and take it from the machine and spend it on sweeties and comics??
"I know that. I'm just telling you that he wants money transferred and he's still capable of signing his name," I said...still smiling even though she was truly uncomfortable with the transaction request.
She actually sighed deeply then pulled a piece of paper from a pad and as she lowered her head to write something she gave a brief little shake of her head...implying to me that she thought she was dealing with an idiot.
That was it. The gloves were off. The smile disappeared from my face and I stood in front of her firing off a glowering stare. I wanted to and should have said...did you just shake your head at me??
But I didn't, because my dad was sitting beside me. I didn't want to cause him any more grief as he was already complaining about having to sign his name.
"Why do I need to do this?" he asked. "What a bloody carry on!"
"I know dad. She just needs to know that you approve. It won't always be like this," I said.
Meanwhile, the teller was busy on her computer screen, checking the activity on the accounts I'm sure. I passed her the paper without a word but kept staring. She couldn't give me eye contact and I wished she could read my mind.
Still looking down and fumbling with bits of paper she said "That's the money transferred."
"Fine!" I said, and pushed my dad's chair towards the exit.
As I stepped away from the counter she called out, "Bye Mr Duffy!" I...WAS...FUMING!!!
Dad didn't answer her. When we got outside I said to him, "I'm sure she thinks I'm spending all your money dad."
"So what if you f***in' were," he smarted. "What's it got to do with her? It's our money."
I just agreed and didn't rant any further. I'd save that for when I got home and phoned my daughter!
It's very easy to judge the actions of those whose lives you know nothing about. It might seem like I've let the teller away with making me feel like an untrustworthy piece of sh*t, but I haven't. I'm simply biding my time.
I'll be back.....
"Show respect even to people who don't deserve it. Not as a reflection of their character, but a reflection of yours"
