Remnants

After years of this illness that is stealing you, I think much of my grieving is done. You're not my dad any more. But, then, a moment catches me as I see your photo and desperately try to remember the man that you were.


I'm scared that the memory I have of you will be of the man, weak and without words lying helpless in a hospital bed. I don't want this to be my memory. I look at the photo of you, healthy, smiling, happy amongst friends and family and I struggle to connect with this image, feel it. It is this memory I want and struggle to find.

Like most children, I guess, we take for granted what we have while we have it.

Tears run slowly down my cheeks as I type.

I want to remember the man who took me swimming on Saturday mornings. I want to remember the man who made me feel safe and loved when I though the world was falling down round me.

I reach for these memories and they are interrupted by today's reality. You lie there, needing comfort, a little human connection. It is a long time since I heard you say my name.

I think you know who we are, well, to the point that you know you are safe with us. Loved by us. But you are slipping away with these memories of you. I am scared of forgetting you. Scared of losing you. Scared of losing these remnants of a life.

I miss you. I don't want you to go, and I know you will soon. I wonder if then I will be able to remember your laugh, your smile, your kindness?

Dementia is cruel. It is a perpetual thief of small pieces of life. It is a temptation of hope and grief. One loss at a time.

I will cling to the little I have left of you.

Electronic Etiquette

Events of the past couple of days have taken from me a decision I needed to think over, ticks No 4 off the 'to do list' http://learningtobeselfish.blogspot.com/2010/02/to-do-list.html

Very sadly the conversation about a possible end of a friendship has been conducted by instant messaging and email. Forums in which tone and understanding will always be lost to a significant degree. Frustratingly my request for 'space' was translated as 'do not contact me again', not only has this prompted hasty and unnecessary responses, and a simple request has been disrespected but it also means that any kind of meaningful conversation has been robbed from the situation. The use of the medium has wasted an opportunity for understanding and mutual respect leaving behind instead a shattered friendship, anger and poorly chosen words.

I love the internet, and facebook, blogging and the like but will it ever been acceptable to adopt these mediums as a replacement for common courtesy and face to face interaction? I don't think so. Sometimes there are messages that just cannot be conveyed electronically. People need to see and feel words from a real human being. There is no substitute.

Ending a friendship by email is vile, cowardly, wasteful and bad manners.

I have just left it be, because a war of electronic words will only result in two people vying for control and trying to be 'right', rather than actually listening with care in a way that compromise, or appreciation is possible. I was daft to engage in electronic comms in the first place, but I will not be complicit in engaging in this damaging game any further.

If I ever get to a place where I don't have the courtesy or guts to face my demons face to face, and I deliver a denouement by text or email, shoot me.

Bad Dreams

Today I am unravelled a bit.


I am distracted by a situation I know I need to make a decision about. I have no clue what I truly want (or am afraid to admit it to myself), or even if I have to make a whole decision now when I could perhaps just throw my thoughts out there see what comes back.

I am so used to pleasing people that I don't know what I want. I know I need not to do what will please someone else, but look after me – it's just not so easy to do.

My dreams are plagued by strangeness, a manifestation of my addled brain disturbing my sleep. Last night's featured an overnight stay in a grand country house hotel for a wedding. I was with lots of friends, and my very grand bedroom (when they were all stuck in tiny turret rooms) was crawling with spiders which initially looked like they were part of the carpet's design. Horrid. I hate spiders.

Action or inaction, or even half an action? I can't move. I am frozen by it.