3rd June 2006 - Mum's 75th Birthday

Today would have been Mum’s birthday. Don’t think there’s much point in telling Dad, reminding him.

I talked with one of the other relatives today. Susie she’s called, she’s a bustly busy wee lady who comes in daily to care for her husband Donald. When Donald first came he was mobile, and could speak, could engage you in a conversation of sorts. I remember once he fell onto the floor of the Quiet Room when Dad, Mark, Ellie and I were in there. I tried to help him up but he was too heavy and I had to get a staff member. Every time – at the beginning – that Susie left, he’d weep, break his heart and wail, desperately, un-consolably, because he thought she’d left him, actually left him and wouldn’t come back. It was only a matter of weeks until he stopped crying, then stopped talking and now moving. He’s so shrunken, so small. He’s not an old man, Susie’s not an old woman. She comes in every day, feeds him, talks to him, helps with his care. And she’s always chirpy.