One Family's Journey with Vascular Dementia
I started this blog as a means of sharing my mother’s story. A woman cut down in her prime by an aggressive and rapid version of dementia. I never once dreamed whilst pouring my broken heart out on to the screen, expunging my pain through the over-sharing of my experience and shock, that I would need to use it to grieve my father.
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”
It’s only when you look back at photos of a year ago or a few months ago that you notice the decline. If you dare to look, then the difference – the decline – is face-slappingly obvious. Continue reading “Singing for Dementia. Singing to cope.”
Radio 1 Newsbeat have today done a feature on dementia. It was a hard listen. A young lady called Hayley described her father’s rapid decline into Pick’s Disease and how his whole personality has changed and how she struggles to love him as he is no longer the same man. Continue reading “Vascular Dementia and Preparing for THAT phone call”
We are just back from a holiday in the south of France.
“Let’s drive!” I said. Continue reading “Dementia: La Merde!”
My favourite jumper has a stain. It’s small, but it’s noticeable. A bright orange stain on my lovely light grey, hand-wash-only, woollen jumper. Continue reading “Dementia: To Know What Love Is”
I haven’t written a blog post for a while. The reason? Well, there’s not been too much to report, I suppose. Continue reading “Dementia – More Grief Than It’s Worth?”
I have a lot of photos of my mother – despite her always hating having her photo taken – but most of them, don’t have a specific date attached to them. Continue reading “Dementia – The Moments”
My youngest daughter has just seen a picture of herself from around two years ago. In the photo, she is sitting between her brother and sister and is around 18 months old and other than looking a little younger, she looks exactly like she does now. Soft blond curls framing her small, angelic face. So, I was a little stumped that she didn’t recognise herself. Continue reading “Dementia: In Her Shoes”
My mum has one of those window-cleaning scraper things in the guest room shower. It is not the original one – that one appeared in the bathroom, carefully hanging on a little rubber hook that stuck to the shower door many, many years ago. Continue reading “The Shower Scraper”
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My Crazy Mum 
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