Grief is a funny old bedfellow. I hate it. I hate the explosive unpredictability of it. But I also wallow in its now familiar depths. It is where I feel close to my father. Where I hear his voice the clearest.Continue reading “Behind Her Eyes”
I had my Covid jab this weekend. The whole set-up was impressive. From volunteer car park attendants directing me to a space, to the high-vis-wearing elderly gentleman pointing me in the right direction. “Elton John concert is that way!” he shouted with a grin. He was sporting a large grin, though of course I couldn’t’ see it because of his face mask.Continue reading “Fish Finger Sandwiches & Lemonade Lollies”
I sometimes worry about sharing so much of our family’s story. I know it is not everyone’s choice of therapy. My need to write, to expunge the fear and grief through words is a very personal thing. Continue reading ““A Bugger Of A disease” – By My Dad”
I have started my marathon training. Continue reading “How Dementia Has Weakened “The Odds””
It’s been a while since I last wrote a blog post. Life has been extremely busy over the past few months and now with Christmas approaching, like mums all over the world I am trying to juggle work, the family and home life with also being Santa, decorating the house so it’s both homely and festive, enough but not too much. Tasteful yet fun. Continue reading “Dementia: Winter is Upon Us”
We run. As a family. It’s become a bit of a “thing”.
I blame the Park Run. We thought we’d try it last summer and almost twelve months later, we still turn up almost every week, come rain or shine. Continue reading “Not The Mother I Thought I Was”
My mum used to have very long hair as a child. So long she could sit on it, apparently. Growing up, it was a story I would share with my friends with immense pride. Continue reading “Dementia: The Importance of Swinging Your Ponytail”
Mum! You’ll never guess what? Doris Day has only gone and stolen your thunder and died. Today! On your birthday. Can you believe it!? Continue reading “The Day Doris Stole My Grief”
What’s the last number?” asks Mabel, aged 5.
Continue reading ““Do You Want Granny To Die?!””