20th January 2007 - Ellie's three

It was Ellie's third birthday. My baby was 3. I couldn't believe how quickly those years went. Unfortunately I mentioned this at the home.

I went in that afternoon. Ellie was having a shared party the following day so we were having a relatively quiet day for the day of her birthday and I knew I wouldn't go in on the Sunday of the party.

He seemed pleased enough to see me, recognised me reasonably quickly as someone he knew and managed to walk to the day room for tea. "It's Ellie's birthday today Dad" I ventured "Imagine Ellie being 3, where has the time gone? These last three years have been so quick!". When I saw his face I realised Einstein was right, time is most definitely relative, not absolute, most definitely relative. What a totally dumbass thing to have said. The thoughts he was having must not have pleased him because he flickered out for a while and when he came back he'd lost the plot completely "Three, by jingo. I remember her as a kitten. So tiny. Should have been a boy though, never had much time for daughters". Didn't try and jigsaw that one together, I probably deserved a sideswipe for my thoughtlessness.

I tried a bit harder to communicate, feeling guilty. I had read about reminiscencing the previous night and how it was useful. I had noticed that he liked to talk about the past because those events were things he was fairly sure had happened, and made sense, he understood them at the time and if he could relay them properly he knew he'd be making sense. Trouble was, he was increasingly losing the cognitive skills to be able to relay the stories correctly. It was hard to tell if his memories were jumbled or just the translation in his head to words. I'd like to think the memories were still intact and that the translation was lost, but maybe that's just to make it easier for me to deal with.

So, I'd started a - pretty onesided - conversation about a holiday we'd had as a family in the really hot summer of 1976. He seemed to remember it and tried to join in but he seemed to have swapped out blocks of words for others. Caravan became monkey, ice cream became coal, tar melting became seaweed. He knew he was getting words wrong and was getting annoyed and frustrated with himself, and then annoyed with me for taking him down this depressing memory lane, crowded with jumbled images that he couldn't describe correctly.

"Go home to your family" he said fixing me with his clouded lustreless eye.
I wanted to say that he was my family and that I'd stay as long as he needed but I didn't, I kissed him, told him I wouldn't be able to see him the following day but had arranged for my brother and sister-in-law to go in to see him on the way to Ellie's birthday party. And I left.

As a healthy man he'd have hated a children's party. Growing up we'd never had one. He only really could cope with very small gatherings and with children in small numbers and at a distance. He'd have - even at his best - totally hated the party that we were having for Ellie. This is the man who once told me he liked working shifts because it meant he "didn't have to do all that family stuff". And who said that he didn't really like children, could only stand them in small doses - and chuckled that it included his own, leaving me in no doubt that he was serious. So, why did I feel guilty I wasn't turning myself upside down arranging a way to bring him to the party on Sunday?

I decided I'd visit on Monday and take in some cake and candles. We could have a little celebration then. I wondered if that would meet with approval. Probably not. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, feel shite if you do, feel shite if you don't. And whilst I wallow in self pity can I just remind myself he's the one losing himself in mind porridge - silly self indulgent bitch that I am.