4th November 2007 - Almost very nearly

There is a man - Graham - that comes in to visit his Mum at the home who is very intriguing. His Mum is lovely. She has a smile that halves her face and whose warmth reaches her eyes, crinkling out into her spread of crowsfeet. When she talks to me she doesn't always make sense but she always leaves you feeling pleased that she stopped to chat. Her name is Iris, which always struck me as appropriate because she's slender and tall and strikingly beautiful.

Her son, too, is striking. He's not tall but he's very slender and he has a kind of presence about him. You find yourself drawn to him. I wasn't surprised to find out he had a 'story'. He just looks interesting. He was a footballer, in the 70's. Very gifted, very talented, could have been the Scots Georgie Best, but he got injured and never fulfilled his potential. He must have been very handsome - he still is but he looks very sad. Until he smiles, he's inherited Iris's smile. When he smiles his face radiates like hers does and you feel like you are basking in their light.

I was upset when I left today. Dad was so lost to me. He was sat in the office when I came in. I say 'sat' because he'd been plonked there. He'd been found on the floor again - I was told he'd gone to sit on an invisible chair and slumped to the ground, although no-one saw it. Again. So, they'd put him in the office with a table tight in against his chest so he couldn't move. I took him through to the 'quiet room' and he dozed off and on. He was lost to me. He didn't manage to tell me anything, didn't understand anything I said.

When I left I sat in the car in the car park for a few mintes. I was crying and oblivious to the outside world so I was surprised when I looked round and saw Graham in his car. I should have spoken to him because I think I managed to make him feel awkward. I'm sorry Graham if you're out there. I'm sure you've shed tears for Iris, and I shouldn't have been embarassed to be caught crying. I was though, it's as if I think I should be able to cope because I see other people coping ( at least to the outside world ). When I see everyone smiling and joking in the home I feel like I'm letting everyone down by not being able to be cheery, by being depressed, saddened and appalled by what I see and hear. When I flinch when someone screams or looks puzzled at someone trying to communicate. You know that scene in Carry on up the Khyber when the English are having a meal and the Indians are attacking and bombimg seven shades out of the room while they, oblivious, talk of the weather? And one wee man - the preacher I think he is - is aware of what's happening and not able to ignore it? "That's me that is". I want to be able to ignore it, to pretend everything is ok but it's not and I can't. And I feel I let all the others down by not following suit.

So, Graham, and all you other relatives, I'm sorry. I've often thought of asking people to meet up away from the home, to form some sort of support group, but I'm not sure anyone else sees the need. Maybe I should. Maybe I will.

3rd November 2007 - Self harming - what's that all about?

I don't know about you but I've always thought that people that self-harm must - at best - be a little odd. Visions of angst-ridden, attention-seeking goth teenagers hacking away at their arms with sharp things. Never really saw the appeal. Until today.

When I got in today Karen caught me and told me that Dad had been found lying in the corridor. She says he didn't fall, he was just lying there sleeping. She says he just slumped to the floor and fell asleep, but no-one saw it. If a tree falls in the forest and no-one sees it...... how the fuck does she know Dad didn't fall? Dad said he did fall but it was a gentle fall and once he was down he just went to sleep because he "just wants this all to stop".

We sat at a table and he kept drifting off to whereever he goes, his eyelids half shut and his eyes rolling from side to side like he was reading something. He'd burst into the room periodically like a struggling swimmer coming up for air, only to be pulled back under again momentarily afterwards.

I was watching him, trying to wake him, trying to engage with him, trying to speak to him, to reach out and give him some human contact - a rope to his drowning swimmer. And failing. And, as it turned out, absently picking a hole in my arm with an unfolded paperclip. I don't remember having unfolded the paperclip. I don't remember having thought "I know, I'll scrape my arm until it bleeds". But I do remember looking and seeing I was doing it and thinking "that doesn't hurt, it's almost pleasant, and it's real, it's alive, I'm alive". I got a bit scared and stopped immediately, blotting the blood with a tissue and putting the paperclip away. I didn't dare look round the room in case one of the other relatives had been watching and was staring at me, aghast at the attention-seeking angst-ridden goth teenager mascarading as a woman in her 40's.

So, all you self-harmers out there, I can understand a bit more why you do it. I'll no longer generalise and bunch you handily in my head into the 'freaks' box. I'm sorry, really sorry.

31st October 2007 - Halloween 3

The third Halloween party we've been to at the home. Someone must have been 'lost' during the day because the 'Private Ambulance' visited and all the residents were coralled in the dayroom while they disposed of the body. Very appropriate I suppose. I had a look round the room to see if I could spot who was missing but I couldn't. I thought it might be Lily but then I saw her dancing with her zimmer. I was relieved it wasn't Lily, she's a hoot. I looked for the people I hoped it might be, hoped not to see their relative sitting round the walls beside their uncommunicating twisted shell, but they were all there. Susie, James, Paul, Robby, Becky's son - the relatives I always see.

The staff have made an effort - they always do for these events - Christmas, St Andrews day, Valentine's day and the like. They come in on days off, they decorate the place, they smile and laugh and joke and create an atmosphere of surreal festivity. Some bring in their children, their siblings or parents to join in the party.

I made an effort too, dressed up and dressed Ellie up. Almost scared the bejezus out of Dad but there you go - it is Halloween after all. I really tried to enjoy it, to laugh along and make out it was a fun party. I tried to ignore the drool, the real life skeletal forms sat beside the full size cardboard one with the "This is what you look like after 6 months in here" postit stuck on it's arse and flashed conspiratorially to some residents relatives. And it wasn't as appalling as the previous two - I wonder if I'm getting better or worse. Am I becoming more or less human, humane?

24th October 2007 - Talking ballocks - there's a novelty

"There's something wrong that trams going way too fast! There's going to be a smash!" Dad shouted at me pointing at an imaginary disaster he was watching play out just for him in the day room. After I convinced him he didn't need to dodge the flying wreckage and that it was safe to walk over the 'burning fireness' we sat down - with our backs to the twisted metal and carnage - obviously - unless it put us off our tea and cake.

"Marshmallow ground polish windows forget-me-not, don't you think?"
"Twig twig twigle my foot. Often over and green. Don't you agree?"

I wish I could just say "you're talking ballocks Dad". But I don't. And in truth ballocks wouldn't have much to say I'm sure. They wouldn't be high on the conversationlist league, perhaps - afterall they see very little in their 3 score and ten on the planet. Most of their lives they spend in the dark, emerging only briefly to dangle perilously close to being doused in all manner of unpleasantness.
So you'd expect them not to have much by way of small talk or chat, but they couldn't fail to make more fucking sense that he did today.

But, once again, the only sense that came out of his mouth were the words "living nightmare" that he spoke as he rubbed his hands over his face as he held head. Please let those just be two more words, please let them have as much meaning to him as "twig twig twigle my foot". Please, don't let him mean them.