30th July 2007 - Bedlam

It was the first time I'd seen him since we went on holiday. He looked just the same. I say looked because I couldn't hear anything he said. Hoovering, extractor fan extracting, TV and CD blaring, three sets of relatives visiting deaf residents, two of the screamers screaming and the 2nd in command entertainments lady playing bingo very loudly. She would shout the numbers, making up the 'clickety click' or 'two fat ladies' term completely at random. "Number 10, Lion's den" she shouted, then looked at each of the cards of the three ladies she'd wheeled around a table to play. If they had the number she'd tell them, mark it and go on. Two of her players she needed to wake to tell of their luck. I fought my desire to shout over "Your IQ" when she yelled "49, wit's that then?" although I did quite like her "Number 12, ma bus hame".

But Dad looked the same. And he did seem pleased to see us. When we left Mark said "I know I'm going to regret asking this but what does Grandad do when we go away?". "What do you mean?" I asked, hoping he didn't mean what I thought he did, hoping he wasn't realising how bleak and awful Dad's life was. "Well, when are not there, what does he do, how does he spend his day? He doesn't just walk around all day, sitting down every now and then for a cup of tea or something does he? Does he?" His face was frightened, he knew he was right, that that was exactly what happened. I tried to tell him that there was entertainment provided, that he watched the TV and there were day trips, but he knew I wasn't being truthful. "I knew I'd regret asking. Mum, can we go and see him every day? I don't mind spending more time there, especially during the holidays". I hugged him close. I tell him that his Grandad wouldn't want him spending all his school holidays cooped up in an old folks home, looking after him. Which is bollocks. His Grandad would want precisely that. Mark hates going into the home. He finds it terrifying, always has. My son is fabulous.