Santa never forgot!

It was Merry 'pretend' Christmas in Maidstone last weekend.  Dad went to respite for a week while I went to visit my daughter Vicky and my two gorgeous grandkids.  They recreated Christmas...just for me.  The time flew by.  It always does when the kids are around.  I wish it was possible to slow time down...if only to have 5 minutes more with them.

The days leading up to this precious visit were fraught with stress as the conclusion of my mother's Will was eminent.  Having that on my mind didn't help when dealing with dad.  I can't share my burdens with him.  He ambles on protected by his oblivious mind.

Visits back and forth to the Solicitor...signing papers that I rage over but have no control to change.  Flooding my mind with Prosecco as soon as dad retired for the night.  Watching their 50th Anniversary party CD on a loop and falling asleep resolving nothing.

I left my dad in the hands of the care home and flew off to find my peace.  I called to make sure dad was okay every other night.  The rest of the time I spent soaking up cuddles from tiny arms and enjoying conversations with 4 year old Jessica whose relentless vocabulary knows no bounds.  I lost myself in her childlike world wishing I didn't have to return to my adult one.

On my last day in Maidstone, the Will and it's shocking outcome concluded.  I'm glad my mother will never know that her wishes were overridden by Scottish Law.  I'm just glad it's all over.  There's a bitterness buried deep within me that will never go away but in contrast, there is also a relief that I no longer have to deal with it.

Nobody will take the piss out of YOU Dad.  My inner strength gained an extra layer overnight.  I've got your back...don't worry.

Back on Scottish ground, I enjoyed one more day doing stuff just for me before I collected dad from the Care Home.  He was more than glad to see me.  With my batteries recharged I was happy to be back and into the routine that keeps him happy and spoiled.

I didn't miss Columbo!

The Care Home still haven't followed up with my constant insistence that my dad needs a bit more help than he appears to.  I know by the fact that he returned home with three full sets of clean clothes and five out of eight incontinence pads that I'd provided.  When I went into the bathroom in his room to retrieve his toiletries, I found a very soiled pad which he'd removed and left next to the wash basin.  I put a clean pad on him before we left and made sure he brushed his dentures.  This isn't a task he would do on his own without prompting so I'm guessing by the dryness of his toothbrush and the tube of paste looking less than used that he's been lacking in personal hygiene.

I didn't leave without voicing my annoyance and also my concern for my dad.  I keep my dad in soft shoes as opposed to the chunky brogues he can no longer walk comfortably in.  I didn't notice until I got him home that the heels on both shoes were turned in and he was walking in them like slip on sandals!

Please assist my dad with washing and dressing.  Please.  That's all I ask.  Basic care.  Even though I have been a Carer for some years, it's awful to admit that my faith in the care providers is waning.  I don't know what it's like any more to feel totally relaxed.  I'll get a phone call one day to tell me that he's had a fall...while dressing or undressing himself.  It will come.  It shouldn't if my words have been heeded.  But it will...

I started a Facebook page for Dad and me.  I can't remember all of my dad's little quips over a period of time and miss a lot when I come to write things down.  I seem to save all my complaints and troubles for the blog these days.  So I hope our Facebook daily dose of something or another will work hand in hand with our blog.

I'm absolutely bowled over by the response to both...and to Dad and me personally because of our interaction with the world.  Your reviews and comments go a long way to help me maintain my positivity.

Splitting myself in two..

I've come to the conclusion that my dad has an alter ego who presents himself when all of my attention is not 100% on his good self.  The thing is, he might not think that he has all of my attention, but trust me, he does.  It doesn't matter what's going on within the house.  I have mastered the art of keeping one eye on the distraction and the other firmly fixed upon him...and his behaviour.  When my eyes aren't in the room, my extra sensory hearing takes over.  If he so much as scratches his arse, I'd know.

In years gone by when I worked as a full-time carer for Paul, there was rarely a weekend went by without me having one or all of my grandchildren staying.  It was the highlight of my week to look forward to Fridays and steal them away.  Paul shared in some of those weekends too and for me the chaotic mayhem was heaven!  I wish I had those days back.  But in a sense...I do.  I'm not dealing with 2 or 3 young children and their behaviours (which was always perfect at granny's hoose 😊)  I am dealing with one 90 year old child who picks and chooses his moments to spit the dummy or worse still, feign illness.  These moments don't occur regularly but when they do it can be very frustrating.  I can't sit him on the naughty step or give him time out since he has no conception of time.  He went for a nap the other day and emerged after a couple of hours.  It was 4 p.m. and the sun was shining (I know...I could hardly believe it myself!).  He looked out of the window and stated "what a beautiful morning!"

"It's almost dinner time dad," I said.

"Already?" he asked.  🤦

Feeding my dad and keeping him healthy is an all consuming part of my day.  What he likes today he may not like tomorrow.  He is having some difficulty swallowing at times but this only seems to be an issue with a proper hot meal.  If I served him crisps and peanuts he'd be happy as a pig in shi muck.  But I'm onto him.  The portions I serve him are birdlike and if he doesn't finish it all then I don't worry too much.  As long as a good amount has been eaten I know I can fill him up in between with little snacks.  Soft foods are best so I've now stopped buying things like pies or anything crusty.  I keep him on fish, pastas, eggs and bananas.  I bought hot cross buns last week and toasted one and spread butter and jam on one half.  I cut it into bite sized pieces and he ate the lot.

"That was lovely," he said.

Great.  Another thing I can add to the list of 'likes'.
One day later I make exactly the same.
"That's rotten!" he states.
"Just leave it then," I say.  FFS!

Last week I picked Daniel up from school and informed dad that he was going to be staying for the weekend.  He never remembers Daniel until he sees him and he can't work out the relationship between us.  But that's okay.  I love the antics of Daniel who is totally oblivious to dad's failing mind and he chats to him as though he was a pal!  Daniel is very loving with me and is constantly cuddling and kissing me which I can never have enough of.  But this behaviour unsettles my dad.  I watch as he glares at Daniel and is quieter than normal...until it's time to eat.  Daniel sits beside dad on the recliner and I set out their meals on trays.  Daniel delights in what is given whilst my dad sits with arms folded, pushing his plate away and sighing loudly.  When I ignore his antics, he throws his head back onto the chair and inhales deeply, exhaling loudly followed by a pursed lip expression.  Finally, I give in.

""What's up dad?" I ask.

"I feel sick," he replies.  "I can't eat that."

"Leave it then," I say, and remove the offending tray.

Then it begins.  The over the top effort to get himself off the recliner and make his way to the toilet, stepping up his shuffling pace and mumbling how sick he feels.

I've come to realise that this isn't real and I have to ignore it as much as I can.  The more attention I give to this the more he would act out.  I take his temperature just in case and inform him that it is normal.

"I must be fine then," he sulks.

"Yes, you are dad. Perfectly," I say, then I place a packet of crisps on the table.

Before I head back into the kitchen the crisps are opened and he manages to get through them without issue, emptying the crumbs onto his hands and licking his palms.  Oh dear Lord, help me!

I keep Daniel entertained by allowing him to restyle my hair.  Dad barely speaks but once again begins to make his way back and forth to the toilet.  He isn't sick.  Not even a wretch.  But his petulance and feeling sorry for himself continues.  

As Daniel gets a little over excited, one of his little feet digs into dad's leg.

"Mind where you're putting your feet!" he shouts, glaring at Daniel.

"He didn't mean it dad," I retort.

I don't like how Daniel looks at me with a "what did I do?" expression.  This is followed by excessive cuddles from him which I don't deny him.  I whisper in his ear, "Granda John is an old grouch!" which makes him giggle.

I feel sorry for my dad who is clearly unable to enjoy all that Daniel and any of my grandkids bring to this house which is filled with memories and an aura which I hope to exorcise over time.  Rome wasn't built in a day...it's taking longer than I'd hoped to feel like I fit in within these walls but I know I'll get there eventually.  I need the laughter and fun of the wee ones despite the annoyance and angst it causes my dad.  If it means a little spurt of petulance now and again then I'm afraid I'm going to put up with it.  Not having my wee ones around isn't an option.

Dad took himself off to bed at 8.30 p.m. on Saturday night.  I followed him to the bedroom to get him ready.
"Where you goin'?" Daniel asked.  I told him I was going to get Granda John ready for bed.
"She'll be back in a minute," dad said.
"Who?" asked Daniel.
"That woman behind me," dad answered.  😢

  Daniel and I watched movies and I watched him until he fell asleep on my chair bed.  I settled on the recliner and soon fell asleep without any disturbance from dad during the night.  The following day, I took Daniel home at lunch time.  Dad ate all of his lunch, had no trips back and forth to the toilet and normal service was resumed immediately.  I sigh heavily for one reason or another every day.

I'm heading off to Maidstone on Saturday for almost a whole week to be with my daughter and her husband and the two wee ones.  We haven't seen each other for months.  Vicky travelled to attend Paul's funeral in November but we haven't spent family time for what seems like forever.  We are having Pretend Christmas Day, with the tree and presents and best of all...Christmas dinner!  Jessica, my 4 year old granddaughter is worried that I will be expecting Santa to arrive and is at pains to tell me herself that he won't really be visiting.  I have to practice my disappointed face without laughing.

Dad is going into respite for the week.  Times like these are few.  I won't have respite again until May when he goes in again for a weekend.  All of the dates ahead where I can plan things to do on my own or for myself are precious.  I am taking dad to St. Andrews in March for a weekend and will be on my own with him.  If this doesn't work well I will rethink the next outing I plan for us.  I'm hopeful that the hotel is luxurious enough and the weather stays fairly mild to allow the visit to go smoothly.

The good days with dad surely outweigh the...not bad, but frustrating days.  He is easier to handle and much more content when he isn't 'sharing' me.  It isn't for him to be bothered about my feelings or needs but I can't allow myself to wrap myself around him to the point where I don't exist.  It is all still a learning process.  No two days are the same and my 'happy' isn't always what I'd like it to be.  But I can't say that I am unhappy either.  I find living with Dementia a very sad experience but when there are moments of fun and laughter, whether it be appropriate or not, there has to be something to be thankful for.  As much as I hate handing my dad over to someone else's care, I appreciate the fact that I can.

Yesterday I took dad to buy him a new jacket.  He was over the moon and couldn't stop admiring himself in the mirror.  As I've been going around wearing my mother's bright pink rain jacket for months, I decided to treat myself too.  I got a bright yellow puffa jacket from Matalan which didn't break the bank.  Dad laughed as I said I looked like a giant canary.  I bought dad a few more things before we went home.  Today, we ventured out for our usual weekly shopping trip.  I brought his new jacket to him to wear.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.  "That's fair braw!" Translation: really lovely

Clearly not remembering that we bought it yesterday, I set about putting it on him before getting myself ready.  Noticing my yellow jacket he asked "When did you get that"

I've no doubt he'll ask me again tomorrow until there comes a time when he realises he's seen it before...could take a while.

Groundhog Day is par for the course.  One day I'll be wishing it was still like this....so for now, I keep my frustrations in perspective....and share them with you!

Smile...it's free therapy. 

Blood is not thicker...take it from me.

With holiday season well behind us along with dad's birthday, the one thing I looked forward to at the end of January was getting away for a couple of days to refresh and recharge my batteries.  I didn't send dad to respite in December which I now know was a mistake although his short spell in hospital gave me a couple of nights to myself.  That's not quite the same and certainly not my preference for him not being around at home.  This year I have most of my dates chosen and already organised for his respite visits.  I now understand and know the importance of taking that short time for myself.  Even when I don't think I'm tired, my body contradicts me...for once in my life, I am listening.
Dad has been doing just fine.  In fact, my sleep is very rarely interrupted by his regular visits to the bathroom during the night.  What once was up to 6 visits has now been reduced to 2 at most.  The only thing that wakes me up are my all too regular nightmares.  I don't know how to resolve that but hope that as the months progress and our situation improves that everything will fall into a much happier and relaxed place.
Not that my dad isn't relaxed or happy....he is well cushioned in his own bubble on his own planet.  A great place to be.  I join him there often when things in the real world dismay and disappoint.  I'll come back to that later....

I booked myself in to Knock Castle for a weekend of spa treatments and relaxation.  It was a birthday and Christmas gift to myself.  Dad's first respite in two months was very much welcomed but as the weekend got closer, I began to feel daunted at the thought of being on my own.  I needn't have worried.  My close friend, Michelle, called me only days before I was due to leave.  Although she lives in Manchester, she didn't think twice about driving to Scotland to spend some time with dad and me (which was her original intention) before taking him to respite then going as a twosome for a weekend of treatments, relaxation and a deep cleansing of the pores....courtesy of copious bottles of Prosecco and Pinot!
From the moment she arrived, we never stopped talking.  More importantly we never stopped laughing.  I don't know the last time I heard myself belly laugh.  Maybe the wine helped a bit but I think it was the sheer need to unwind and just 'be'.

I realise that when I talk about my dad that a lot of the stories are pretty funny.  Most of the situations aren't meant to be humourous but if humour can't be found in them I think it would be quite necessary to plead insanity and give up.
He is still spreading his snotty, wet hanky over the arm of the recliner to 'dry' although I do remove it swiftly, ignoring his stern glare.  I have managed to stop him laying it over the radiator only because I see the hanky in his hand before he tries to get off the recliner (which could take anything up to 3 days unaided) and plan his route across the floor towards it.
His new habit is to take his teeth out while he sits beside me and poke around his mouth with his finger.  🙈
I do let him know that it isn't a pleasant thing to do.  I know that I'll be keeping a more watchful eye on him after he has finished eating to at least try and intervene before the teeth make their way out into the open again.  Please don't let my senses let me down!

Dad and I are doing so well as we are.  It has now been 7 months since my mother passed away.  When I look back to the first day she went into hospital and realised that she wouldn't be coming back home it felt like a ton of bricks had tumbled down on top of me.  All the decisions and phone calls to be made, the paperwork and complicated issues that they brought with some still ongoing.  The care plan for my dad being the most important.  The realisation that none of our lives would ever be the same again.  His most definitely was going to improve in every aspect with having me around 24 hours a day.  Mine taking a completely new path and not knowing if I had the skills or the heart to follow it to the end.
But now I do.

Imagine this scenario.  Imagine if there was someone who could have shared the burden of care for my dad, who could have been there throughout my mother's illnesses from years ago until her death.  Imagine if together we'd have been able to make life a little easier for each other and let my mother die with at least one of us by her side and not the nurse who was on night duty, instead of rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night leaving my dad alone in the house asleep in his bed for as long as I dared before driving back home.  I was able to tell my mother all I needed to tell her (and that included you my dear sister) and hoped that she would go with more peace than bitterness and hurt, and also that she would forgive my departure before her last breath.
For the past 15 years I have been looked upon as an only child.  It was easier in the workplace to not go down the route of explaining why my sister didn't exist in my life.  Jealousy, petulance and the inability to step down from the heirarchical position she bestowed herself drove my only sister to make the worst decision she could ever make in her entire life.  Never to speak to me or see me again is one thing, I could live with that no problem.  But to cut off the parents who brought up, spoiled and stood up for over a trivial issue is inexplicable to me.
My daughter and I had a long conversation with my mother who left this world worrying about what she was leaving behind.  Due to Scottish Law, the Will she intended wasn't really worth the paper it was written on.  It isn't possible to disinherit your spouse or children.  They are entitled to their lawful share but this being said, they don't have to accept it.  My mother reached out to her eldest daughter over the years and got no response in return.
It didn't take the same daughter long to pen a hand written response to my Lawyer when she was informed of her legal rights.
Money talks....she accepted without conscience.
15 years without contact.  15 years not knowing three grandchildren.  15 years without any responsibility for elderly parents who really did nothing to deserve this idiocy.

I care less about the money or the amount.  It has surely unmasked a hypocrite.  The full details are personal but would shock anyone should I write them down publicly.  But one day, they will be written.

There was no need to follow your wishes and have her removed from your funeral Mother.  She never showed up.  To fight against the Law would be futile even though I told you I would, I already knew I couldn't.  But the Law is being reviewed Mother.  Let's hope it is before my Dad comes to join you...unless Karma steps in first.

I sat with dad having coffee the other day, feeling a bit despondent prior to the meeting with the Solicitor.  A lady by the name of Toni approached us, excusing herself for being so bold as to come and say 'hello'.  I didn't know her but she knew me through my Facebook page and has followed me throughout my journey in the cake world.  She just wanted to let me know how amazing this blog is and how I deal with and view life which inspires so many.  This adoration couldn't have come at a better time.  It was a lovely conversation and it gave me the boost I needed to get back to sharing the day to day living with dad without his 'real' wife and my mother.

After February, the financial saga will be over and I hope never to have to bring it up ever again.  I have no forgiveness for the family I no longer know and who dad doesn't remember existed in the first place.  Life goes on and our lives surely will...in peace.

To absent family...enjoy your spills with the conscience of the devil.  You have no Father, but don't feel bad.  Neither do I.  I answer to Anne most of the time.  Although I am not happy that he has Dementia, I have great satisfaction that he has no memory of you at all.  I will continue to protect and care for him for as long as he lives.  I hope above all hope that I live to see him out...as I'm sure you do too.  Think about that...

Thank you Toni for your kind words to dad and me.  Their timing and meaning were perfect.