28th September 2008 - Wafer paper Dad

He's so frail. He's so thin. So tiny and so very papery wafery flimsy. One of the staff - Amy - was asking about what 'the family' wanted at 'the time'. I've filled in all this paperwork, I know I have. I'm sure I remember asking Moira and Colin what they wanted, and what they thought Dad would want.

Why is she asking again now? Is that a sign that they think 'something' is going to happen?

August 2008

There's nothing to say. I've run out of energy. I can't muster a cheery hello when I go in to see him any more. Sometimes I even forget to talk to him, just sit beside him and talk to the staff. How must that feel for him - completely ignored even by his visitor. If he knows I'm his visitor. He does recognise me as being someone he should know, but who he thinks I am is anyone's guess.

My admiration for the staff just gets more and more. I know I complain about some of them and their apparent lack of respect for the residents, but I know it's a job I could never do, I know that for every resident there is a type of caring ( and carer ) that is just right, and that they are ( mostly ) deeply decent people. There are very few other jobs where the staff would attend events, give up their spare time, volunteer for extra duties and all for minimum wage.

22nd July 2008 - I'm building an ark

I know it's a national obsession - complaining about the weather - but holy mother am I sick of the rain. I can't remember a day when it didn't rain. The kids are on holiday from school and I ran out of indoor things to do in the first week and patience with childrens TV the second week.

I'd planned - too - to take Dad out in a chair when the summer was here. Just round the gardens, or down the road for a tea, or something, anything, to get him out of the home, get some fresh air. But I can't in the rain.

Ellie's rebelling against going in to see Dad. Mark has, for a long time now, been uncomfortable with it, but Ellie's been ok really up until now. She's always been scared of a couple of the residents but, mostly, if I brought he a sweetie and some colouring pens and books, she was fine. She's more aware now, she's getting some understanding of the lives of the residents, how bleak it is and how sad. She knows that when we are not there her grandad just wanders about and sleeps where he stops, only to wake to wander again until someone takes him to get fed, or changed. She knows he doesn't make sense.

So, I'm not seeing much of Dad over this god awful summer. I'm only managing to see him two or three times a week. He doesn't seem to mind. I can't remember the last time he called me by my name, or the last time we had an exchange that lasted past the initial serve and return. He never serves, and his return is often nonsensical. If I do bat it back, he can't follow, just ignores it. I hope he's not aware. I'm sure he's not aware, not all of the time - but I know he does still get flashes of clarity - I can see it in his face, moments when he knows what's happening, where he is and why. He's scared, he's lonely, he's bored and miserable. And it's fucking raining.