Saturday

I didn’t visit Mum today. I’d seen enough yesterday to know she’d be sound asleep and totally unresponsive all day today.

Lesley went to see her dad. She took the train again because she was so tired and stressed that she didn’t trust herself to drive. She was also totally preoccupied with the prospect of having to have a difficult conversation. His refusals of help and obstruction of his carers had been worsening all week and that needed to stop. He has said for years that he would do anything to avoid going into a home. Now, everything he his doing is just about guaranteeing that that will happen. And soon.

Lesley took a call from a friend she’s known since the first day at secondary school on her way there. The friend’s husband had had to go to a meeting in the office. His office is in Texas and she’d been at home alone for a few days.

“I’m on the way to Dad.”

“Can I meet you there?”

The Difficult Conversation was had and I was told he listened. When asked whether he’d let the carers help him he’d said

“OK. I’ll try.”

That’s what he always says when he’s got no intention of doing anything different.

While Lesley chased around and organised his meds, dealt with his post, started his laundry and did everything else he needed her friend engaged Dad in conversation.

Meanwhile, The Dog took me on one of her favourite walks. Down the bridle path to the nature reserve. I’d been avoiding it during the hotter weather and the signs warning of the risk of blue-green algae poisoning to people and animals entering the water were still up. Even though the water looked crystal clear I still wasn’t entirely happy about The Dog going in it. But she’s part Labrador so the attraction was irresistible. She’s also part Staffie and is really stubborn. Thankfully, no harm came to any small dogs in the production of this walk.

We were out for nearly three hours and only when we were almost home did I feel the release of tension in my jaw and shoulders. I need more of that.

When Lesley got home she told me how weird her friend had been. How she had sat and listened and agreed with him and said Wow! and Well I Never! at each new story.

“If that had been me I’d have told him it was all rubbish. I’d have said you’ve never been there, never seen it. None of it is true and he knows it. I couldn’t believe she was agreeing with him.”

“That’s because she’s talking to him like you would to someone with serious dementia.” I replied unhelpfully.

To be fair, it is difficult with him. I can talk for ages to Mum or any of the other ladies at The Home and listen to all kinds of fantastical nonsense while thinking nothing of it. I even enjoy the challenge of trying to keep up with them. Dad’s different. There’s something about him that just makes you want to argue with him.

And Lesley and I rise to the bait every bloody time.

Author’s Note

My Mum is in a nursing home in a small village in the Thames Valley. The photo is not of the home. I used an AI image generator to give the reader some idea of the home she’s in.

All, some or maybe even none (you’ll never know!) of the names have been changed to protect privacy and hide real identities. If you think you recognise someone then let me know and I’ll edit the post or remove it entirely